


Not All Kidnappings are Bad

by Cdelphiki



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adoption, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Dick Grayson is Robin, Gen, Homelessness, Human Trafficking, Implied past human trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason joins the family early, Kid Jason Todd, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: While out on patrol one night, Bruce encounters a kidnapping attempt. A pretty routine night, unfortunately.When the victim in question happens to be a 9-year-old Jason Todd, however, Bruce finds himself getting a little too attached to a child he just met. Was it okay to kidnap a child right off the street and keep him?
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 617
Kudos: 2198
Collections: 3am Fics Stealing My Sleep, Bruce Wayne and his ever growing batfam





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> READ THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS PLEASE:   
> Very brief mention of needles in this chapter.   
> Some minor nausea/throwing up in this and future chapters.   
> Fear of Sexual Assault discussed. This I feel the need to mention, but I am unsure how to tag it in the story without making people think Jason is assaulted in this fashion at all. Whether it's happened in the past is left completely ambiguous, so it is up for reader interpretation. It DOES NOT and WILL NOT happen from the second Jason appears in the first sentence of this fic for the rest of Jason's life. He is absolutely, completely safe from thenceforth. He just isn't convinced he is at first. 
> 
> His fear might be distressing for some.

Someone was screaming.

It wasn’t an unusual sound. Not in Gotham. Not at night. And it certainly wasn’t something _Batman_ was unused to hearing.

But something about this scream…

It made Batman pull out his grapple and jump from roof to roof, in hopes of reaching the scene quickly.

“ _Let go of me,”_ the person was yelling, he noted once he was closer.

No, not yelling. _Begging._

The voice was panicked. A cross between a shrill and a cry.

_“Pl— Please, no, let go.”_

Most notably, the voice was _young._

Batman heard kids scream and cry almost every night. It was why he did this job, to protect them. To save them.

But something about _this_ voice was different. It… it was painful, to hear. To hear how frightened this kid was. Bruce hadn’t even got a good look at them, yet. Wasn’t even sure if it was a boy or a girl.

 _“Please,”_ the kid cried, much quieter now, clearly close to giving up. Resigned to simple begging.

Batman reached the edge of the roof nearest the alley, where the noise was coming from, and looked down at the scene.

There were four thugs and one small child. A boy, if he had to guess, although the kid was swimming in a too-large red hoody, which obscured most his body.

God, the kid was _tiny._ Eight or nine, at most. He was dwarfed by the two men, holding either of his arms in tight grips, causing the boy to dangle in the air, several feet off the ground.

“That’s a good boy,” one of the men not holding him said, once the child stopped thrashing about. His hiccuped crying was somehow _more_ heartbreaking than his screams had been.

The man brushed his hand across the little boy’s cheek, and Batman growled to himself as the little boy whimpered. “See, it doesn’t hurt as much when you don’t fight.”

“G—Get away fr—from me,” the boy tried, between his hiccups.

Bruce kind of wished Dick was with him that night. But Robin was out with his team, doing some sort of ‘bonding mission.’ Batman tried very hard to keep his nose out of the dealings of Robin’s team, and only got involved to give official JL sanctioned missions. Otherwise, he let the team do what they wanted.

Within reason, of course.

But since ‘bonding mission’ meant _camping,_ Batman hadn’t seen a need to but in.

Robin would be very helpful with dealing with this terrified child, however, once Batman finished recording evidence to turn over to the GCPD and finally dropped down on these assholes and let _them_ know what it felt like to be helpless and restrained against their wills.

“Now, now,” the man said, “You were doing so well.”

The little boy kicked the man right between the legs, _hard,_ when he reached out for his face again. Batman barely had time to think _atta boy,_ before the scene below him went to _hell._

When the man the boy kicked fell to the ground, the fourth thug stepped forward and clocked the kid on the head, causing him to cry out in pain. Despite the injury, he continued to thrash about in his captor’s arms. He was giving those two so much trouble the fourth thug had to stop in to help subdue him.

Batman landed right on top of thug number four, knocking him out cold with just the action. Likely breaking his arm, as well.

“Batman,” the boy exclaimed, in a tone of relief and terror, as the two thugs holding the boy dropped him and tried to run for it.

All Batman had to do was toss a couple bolas at their legs, and both went toppling to the ground.

“You fucking kid,” the original thug said, the guy who had been on the ground, clutching himself when Batman originally landed, so he hadn’t put any focus on him first.

Spinning around, Batman pulled out a batarang, with the full intent on hitting the guy where he was already sore, but froze.

Because he’d grabbed the kid, and was now standing there, the kid in one arm, a knife held to his neck with the other.

“One move and the kid gets it,” he snarled, taking a step backwards, toward one of the alley exits.

Batman definitely wished Robin were here with him. It was _much_ easier getting out of these situations with a partner.

“You don’t want to hurt the kid,” Batman said, as he dropped his batarang and held his hands to the side placatingly. All he had to do was get the guy talking. That would distract him _just enough_ he’d be able to free the kid.

“No,” he replied testily, “ _you_ don’t want me to hurt the kid.”

True.

But no one would be hurting the kid any more, regardless.

And the poor kid…

He was definitely about nine. _Tiny._ His hair was matted, like it hadn’t been washed or combed in _weeks._ Perhaps longer. His face was smeared with dirt, just like his tattered jeans and hoody. And, perhaps, the worst of all was how he had dark circles under his eyes, only making his hallowed in cheeks all the more haunting looking.

Street kids were honestly the hardest thing for Bruce to see. Every single time he encountered one, it made him want to run rampage through the city and beat unconscious every. single. adult. responsible for their existence.

The little boy looked him straight in the eyes, and Bruce saw a spark of intelligence in there. And not in the _is a human and can think critically_ way, but in the _this child is brilliant_ way. It was strange, how it was possible to _look_ into a child’s eyes and tell just how smart they were.

It was tragic _any_ child ended up homeless, on the street, fending for themselves. _No_ kid deserved that.

When the child had as much potential as he was _sure_ this child had, though?

It was a fucking tragedy.

Before Batman came up with a response for asshole-thug number one, the little boy twitched, ever so slightly, and produced a knife from _no where._

Logically, Bruce knew the knife had been up the kid’s sleeve. Or, perhaps, hiding in his hoody pocket, but the way he pulled it out without tipping off the thug _or_ showing Batman exactly where it had been hidden was _impressive._

The little boy jammed the knife into the side of his captor, then landed on his hands and knees when the thug dropped him, doubling over in pain.

“You fucking—“ the man wheezed, holding one hand to his side as he reached haphazardly for the boy, just barely missing the hem of his sweatshirt as the boy scrambled away from him. “I’ll _kill_ you.”

An unhealthy amount of blood started to ooze from the man’s side, and despite the fact Bruce would not, at all, care if a potential pedophile or human trafficker _died,_ he _also_ didn’t want this child to have been responsible.

Not at nine.

Not _ever._

Batman rushed to the thug’s side and pulled out a stack of gauze, batting the thugs hand away to press over his wound as he said into his comm, “Agent A, I need police and medical to my location.”

“Fuck you, man,” the thug wheezed, even as he placed his own hands over his wound and started applying an appropriate amount of pressure.

The little boy, who had been frozen in place, staring at the scene in front of him, startled at Batman’s request for police and outright _squeaked._

When Batman turned to look at him, his eyes grew wide. He positioned his feet, as if about to bolt, and only _didn’t_ because Batman reached out and grabbed onto his wrist.

His arm tugged, as he tried to run, anyway, and the pitiful little, “ow,” he whined out made Batman snap his _full_ attention to the little boy.

“You’re hurt,” he said, removing his other hand from the thug’s side, confident he’d be able to staunch his own bleeding.

And, if he couldn’t.

Well.

Medical would be there soon.

“Fuck you,” the kid said, breathily as he rubbed at his forearm.

Bruce slowly let go of his arm, making it clear with his body-language if the kid tried to bolt again, Batman would stop him.

He pulled his bloody gloves off quickly and slipped on the spare pair he kept in his belt, as he said, “Let me see.”

“No,” the kid said, snatching his arm out of Batman’s reach as he backed up. When his back hit the brick wall behind him, though, he started breathing faster and said, “ _They’re_ the bad guys, not me. Let me go.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Batman said, inching forward, despite the growing panic in the little boy’s eyes.

“You helped me, okay? I’m not kidnapped anymore,” he snapped, looking to either side of the alley as he bounced from foot to foot. After a beat, he added, “ _Thank you_ , okay? Is that what you want to hear? Let me go.”

Batman sighed, and crouched down in front of the boy, who pressed himself up against the wall even tighter. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“None of your fucking business.”

Sighing again, Batman rubbed his chin and _thought_ for a moment.

Robin would be _super_ helpful right about now…

A quick glance at the other thugs let him know asshole-thug number one was still alive, still alert, and still applying pressure to his own wound. He looked a little more pale than before, but considering Bruce could hear the sirens way off in the distance, he knew it was only a few more minutes until help arrived.

The other three thugs were still tied up nearby, all still unconscious.

“Where have you been living?” he asked, looking again at how absolutely filthy the boy was. Clearly, the boy hadn’t been living _anywhere._

And if he _had,_ well. He needed to be removed from that home immediately.

“That’s _also_ not your business,” he snapped, glaring at Batman in such a way Bruce could only consider ‘cute.’

“Let me _go._ You can’t kidnap me, either. _It’s illegal.”_

His little attitude wasn’t cute, though. Mostly just heartbreaking.

“I’m not kidnapping you. We’re waiting for the police so—“

 _“No!”_ the boy screeched, ducking to the left as he made another attempt at running.

All Batman had to do was grab the back of his hoody, this time, to stop him.

“No, fuck you, man,” The boy cried, devolving back into the mess of tears he’d been in when Batman arrived, “They’ll send me back, let me _go.”_

“Send you back where?” His parents? Foster care? Juvie? “I can help you.”

“Your idea of help is the police,” he shrieked, as he started thrashing about in an attempt to dislodge his hoody from Batman’s hand. His own arms were occupied, as he’d taken to holding one arm up with the other.

Definitely a broken arm.

That, plus the nasty blow to the head he’d sustained meant the kid _needed_ help. Bruce could _not_ let him run off, like he sometimes had to do with street kids. Let them run off and figure out their cases from afar. Get their abusive parents arrested, or crappy social workers fired, or records ‘lost.’

 _This_ kid needed medical attention.

“How about we start with a hospital,” Batman said, tugging the little boy back toward him by the back of his hoody once he’d quit struggling, “We don’t have to deal with police.”

“Hospitals have social workers,” the boy cried, “And police. _Let me go,_ you’re supposed to be the good guy.”

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he tried, finally letting go once the boy stilled completely.

Apparently that’s what he’d been waiting for, because the second Bruce let go, the little boy took off again. And _this time,_ Batman wasn’t able to grab his shirt fast enough.

Batman jumped to his feet to make chase, but the boy only made it about ten steps before he tripped over _nothing_ and stumbled to the ground.

The way he barely moved his arms to catch himself let Batman know there was something _seriously_ wrong. Medical attention was what the kid needed, and if he didn’t want to go to a hospital, Bruce only knew of one other alternative.

“Agent A, send the Batmobile to my location,” he said into his comm, as he rolled the boy onto his back and did a quick examination. He felt for a pulse, and was relieved to find a strong one, even if a little elevated. The kid had been in panic mode for at least fifteen minutes, Bruce was surprised it wasn’t _more_ elevated.

Running his hands over both the boy’s arms revealed at least one fracture in his left arm, the one he’d been holding onto, but thankfully that appeared to be all of his injuries. Aside from whatever had caused him to lose consciousness.

Batman prayed there was not a serious head injury, but he was not getting his hopes up.

The Batmobile pulled up a second later, and Bruce scooped the little boy up and quickly buckled him into the passenger seat, just as the first cop car arrived.

He paid none of them any mind as he slid into the driver’s seat and sped off toward help.

\- - -

“ _He needs a hospital,”_ Leslie yelled, the very second Bruce deposited the little boy on an examination table in her closed clinic.

“He said no hospitals,” Bruce insisted, _for the third time._

“Head injury plus losing consciousness means _hospital,”_ she repeated, also for the third time, even as she continued to undress the boy to get a better idea of what they were dealing with, “I don’t have an MRI machine _.”_

“I do,” he said, as he continued holding the boy’s head still for Leslie, as she had instructed. Leslie looked at him sharply, and Bruce felt the need to elaborate. “In the cave. If he needs an MRI… I have a machine.”

“I’m not even going to ask _why_ you have your own MRI,” she said, then, “Of _course_ he needs an MRI. Head injury. Unconscious.”

Leslie cut through the little boy’s t-shirt, the last of his outer clothing still on him, revealing his chest.

Now that Bruce could see most of the kid’s skin, he felt a little sick.

Because the poor kid was _covered_ in bruises. It looked like he’d taken a number of beatings in the previous weeks. As well as what was possibly a minor knife wound.

“Where did you find this kid,” Leslie asked, her tone much more solemn than it had been a few seconds ago.

“Rescued him from kidnappers. They looked like traffickers.”

“ _Jesus_.”

“I’ll research them more later, and make sure they’re put away for as long as possible.”

Leslie looked up at Batman, for just a second, before she turned her attention back to the boy. “Make yourself useful and take notes.”

Bruce did.

The boy’s injuries were many, but on the upside his pupils reacted normally, and his breathing and heart rate were both normal. Leslie wanted to x-ray his left arm and wrist, and his ribcage. Everything else seemed to be simple bruises.

It was sickening how many cuts and bruises the little boy had.

“There’s no knot on his head,” Leslie said, when she was doing her examination of the boy’s scalp, “might not have a head injury, after all.”

“So,” Bruce said slowly, as he wrote down Leslie’s words, “No MRI?”

Rolling her eyes, Leslie said, “Right now, I want to get him washed up, do a blood draw, and get an IV put in him, then those X-rays.”

Bruce simply nodded.

Leslie washed the kid quickly with a warm rag, and Bruce tried not to feel like a creep for being present. Not that Leslie had fully undressed him to begin with.

After he was clean, she pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from a closet, that she kept around for exactly situations like that, apparently. “He’ll be more comfortable in these when he wakes up,” she’d said, one she’d finished dressing him.

It was a good thing she’d done that, too, because not even three minutes later, when Leslie was preparing his arm for the blood draw, the little boy opened his eyes.

“Hi sweetheart,” Leslie said, more gently than Bruce had _ever_ heard her speak, “Do you know where you are?”

The boy blinked a couple times, then looked over at Leslie, who was sitting on a chair at his bedside. When he took in her white coat and the way she was holding his good arm in her hand, an alcohol wipe in the other, his eyes went wide.

“Hey, whoa there,” Leslie said, when he snatched his arm away and sat up.

He immediately put his hand to his head and screwed his eyes shut, and the slight tinge of green his face turned was the only warning of what was about to happen.

Batman just _barely_ got the empty trashcan across the room and in the boy’s lap before he released the contents of his stomach.

“He might need that MRI still,” Leslie said.

“Fuck,” the boy said, between gags, which were caused both by the throwing up _and_ by the tears he’d burst into upon starting to vomit, “You.”

Leslie set a hand on his back and started rubbing circles. “Shh. Just focus on breathing, kiddo. I know this is scary, but you’re safe here.”

“No,” the kid cried, continuing on despite only every few words being understandable, “I said— and— no cops— Batman— can’t go back—“

“Sweetheart,” Leslie said, still rubbing his back, “my name is Doctor Leslie. Have you heard of the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic?”

“Is,” the boy hiccuped, then took a shuddering breath as he sat up a little from the bin in his lap, “Is that the one that doesn’t report people?”

“That’s right, kiddo. I have special permission to _not_ report things, so that people come get the help they need.”

“They said,” he sniffed, “they said that doesn’t apply to kids.”

 _It doesn’t,_ Bruce thought. Leslie was _still_ a mandatory reporter, and was supposed to report suspected child abuse, anyway.

“I promise you’re safe here,” Leslie said.

The little boy sniffled a few more times, then pushed the trashcan away from himself, so Bruce took it and dealt with the contents.

When he returned to the examination room, Leslie had the boy laying back down and was drawing his blood without much complaint.

“How’d you get all these bruises,” she was asking, when Bruce stepped back in. He paused, in the doorway, because the boy hadn’t noticed him yet, and he seemed so much more calm than he’d been all night.

“The way people normally get bruises,” he replied, only a hint of bite in his voice. Overall, he just sounded _exhausted._

 _“_ Did one of your parents?” she prodded, gently, as she removed the filled vial of blood and inserted another empty vial into the butterfly needle.

“No. Dad’s in jail and Mom’s dead.”

“A foster parent, maybe?”

The kid snorted.

“Jason,” she said, gently, “Honey, where have you been living?”

Bruce noted the name ‘Jason,’ as he continued to listen. It was a nice name… he liked it. The kid definitely looked like a ‘Jason.’

“Doesn’t matter,” Jason mumbled.

“Of course it matters, dear,” she said, setting the last vial down on her table before she picked up the cotton ball and pressed it into Jason’s elbow to keep it from bleeding too much when she removed the needle, “I want to know you’re safe.”

Jason’s shoulders rose a little, and Bruce could see how he clenched his teeth. He waited until Leslie placed a bandage over the cotton ball, then pulled his arm away from her and scowled. “You _said_ you wouldn’t report.”

“I didn’t say—“ she started, but Jason didn’t let her finish.

“Fuck you, all you doctors are the _same,”_ he shouted, pushing himself to a sitting position before he slid to the ground. He froze, though, when he turned toward the door and saw Batman standing there, then screamed, “ _Fuck you.”_

Batman held his hands to the side, trying to show the kid he wasn’t _trying_ to be threatening. “Jason,” he said, trying to replicate Leslie’s soothing tone but probably missing it by a country mile. His Batman gravel just did not _do_ comforting. “We just want to help you and make sure you’re being cared for.”

“I don’t _need_ to be cared for,” he screamed, “I need you to leave me alone!”

If this kid was in the system, clearly he’d had some terrible experiences with it. Bruce still wasn’t sure how old he was, but at about nine, it took a lot to make a kid run away and put up with what was likely gangs or bigger kids beating him up, and then _prefer_ that over the help of Social Services.

“What if I could find you a safe place _without_ involving the police or Social Services,” Batman asked. Surely there was _somewhere_ he could bring the kid. Maybe the Wayne Foundation orphanage? One of the private agency group homes?

“Why would I let _you_ put me in a home, either,” Jason yelled, his face turning red as he continued to cry.

“We can’t let you back out on the street,” Batman said, but Jason wasn’t having _any_ of that.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, louder than he’d screamed anything so far. Bruce winced, at the shrill of it, and could only imagine what Jason’s poor throat felt like after all the screaming he’d done all night.

Apparently that was all the energy Jason had, because a second later he wobbled on his feet, a little, and held a hand up to his head. Leslie was quick to hold her hands out, ready to catch him should he fall.

“Honey, you’re dehydrated,” she said gently, placing a hand on his back and guiding him to one of the chairs against the wall, “How about we get you an IV first and figure out what we’re doing after, okay?”

“I don’t,” Jason cried, back into his pattern of saying a few words between hiccups, “I can’t go back. Please. I can take care of myself.”

“Shh,” Leslie said, as she helped Jason sit down, “Just relax, okay? Let’s fix your injuries and get you an IV.”

Jason nodded, and clearly worked on getting himself back under control.

“I think your arm is broken,” Leslie said, as she prepared an IV bag she’d pulled out, “does it hurt much?”

All Jason did was nod, so Leslie continued, “Okay. I want to x-ray it, and if it is broken, we’ll get it into a cast so it can get better. Do you have a favorite color?”

“Red,” Jason mumbled, sniffling as Leslie brought the IV over near Jason and gently took hold of his good arm.

“That’s a good choice, I like red, too. We can get you a red cast, okay?”

Jason didn’t protest when Leslie placed the IV in his hand. Once it was in a secure, she pat Jason’s head and said, “You just relax, okay? This will help you feel better.”

Nodding, Jason leaned back and took a deep breath.

When, only a couple minutes later, he closed his eyes and clearly fell asleep, Bruce asked, a little appalled, “Did you sedate him?”

“He was going to fight us every step of the way,” Leslie said, motioning with a hand for Bruce to finally enter the room, “Help me move him to the X-ray room. I want to get that arm set. I don't think he's concussed, just scared and dehydrated."

Gently, Bruce slid one arm under Jason’s knees, and the other behind his back. When Leslie positioned Jason’s arms in a way neither would dangle when Bruce lifted, he stood and slowly made his way down to the x-ray room, Leslie dragging the IV pole with them.

“I did you a favor,” she said, once they were getting Jason settled for his chest x-ray, first, “He’s too high strung. Once he’s rested, he’ll be more willing to see reason, but right now? He’s going to get himself hurt, fighting you as much as he was.”

After a beat, Leslie amended, “More hurt.”

They moved behind the radiation screen, Bruce finally said, “Thank you,” unsure of what else to say.

Really, he needed to figure out _where_ to take Jason, that he’d be safe. The Wayne Foundation Orphanage was probably—

“I don’t want to see this one in a cape, Bruce,” Leslie said, as she was looking at the image of Jason’s ribs on her screen, “For one, he’s too young. And two, you’re getting him _off_ the street, not putting him out in it.”

It took Bruce a good ten seconds to really comprehend what she was saying.

Because…

“Who said I was keeping him?”

Leslie just snorted, and went back out to move Jason for the arm x-ray.

He _wasn’t…_

There were probably _laws_ against simply finding orphans and _keeping_ them.

In fact, he _knew_ what those laws were. It was called _kidnapping._

“You would have already turned him over to the authorities, if you weren’t,” Leslie said, and Bruce just spluttered.

Because.

He couldn’t think of a good reason _why_ he hadn’t just handed Jason over to the ambulance.

Plenty of times in the past he’d forced victims to go to the hospital, despite their protestations.

There was just something about Jason’s cry that really tugged at his heart strings.

Really, the only other kid who had _ever_ done that to him was Dick…

“I can’t just keep random children I find on the street,” he said, anyway. Because it was _true._ Kidnapping was _bad._ “That’s not how it works.”

Leslie leveled him an unimpressed look, before she said, “For Bruce Wayne, that’s exactly how it work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, that's the summary for now. 
> 
> This has at least one more chapter to it. I want to explore Jason's first day at the manor, at least, and his whole reaction to waking up in Wayne Manor (spoiler, it's not good). Also, want Dick and Jason to meet. Dick's about 14, and I decided to run with the Young Justice universe for no reason other than I like that universe and I've never written in it! How crazy is that? 
> 
> Also. Sorry not sorry I wrote 4k words in this today instead of like...... my two currently running longfics that are both late on updates. LOL *continues on to writing chapter 2 of this* This idea just would NOT leave me alone. 
> 
> I LOVE comments, so feel free to leave one! Thanks for reading! If you want to come chat with me, here's my [Tumblr.](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes home and finds a kid in the Manor, absolutely terrified of them all. It was no wonder, since Bruce kind of kidnapped him.

The team’s camping trip ended sooner than planned, to Dick’s continued disappointment. 

Originally, they were going to eat breakfast together before packing up and heading back to the mountain for the rest of the day, but then they woke up and discovered Wally had eaten _all their food_ in the middle of the night. 

_All of it._

“What? I get hungry,” had been his only defense. 

At least he packed their things at his top speed, so Dick didn’t have much to complain about. 

But when M’gann exclaimed, the moment they returned to the mountain, that she would make them all French Toast, well…

Dick made his excuses and zetaed to the Batcave as quick as he possibly could. 

Alfie would make him a nice big _not burnt_ breakfast, Dick was _sure._

He half expected to find Bruce still in the cave, when he arrived at their zeta a few minutes past seven. Bruce was terrible, like that, staying up _all night long,_ working away on cases. Whenever Dick wasn’t around, at least. Alfred said before Dick arrived, Bruce did that on the nightly, and _never_ slept when the sun wasn’t up. 

Crazy.

More proof Bruce needed a partner. Without one, he was basically not even human. 

A vampire. He was a vampire, without a partner. 

Except for the whole, sucking blood thing. 

Dick skipped up the stairs, two at a time, as he made his way to the Manor, eager to see Alfred and spend a few hours with him, since Bruce probably _still_ didn’t go to bed at a good time and was still asleep. 

When he exited the study, though, and turned toward the kitchen where Alfred probably was, he paused. 

Because… 

There was what sounded like _screaming_ coming from upstairs.

Like, _actual_ screaming. 

A high pitched sound, too, so not Bruce or Alfred’s voice. 

Was there another kid in the Manor? Or was Bruce watching some weird show _super_ loud?

Curiously, Dick turned around and made for the stairs to the family wing. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Bruce siting on the ground, his back against the wall next to a guest room was not it. Not only that, but Bruce had his arms crossed over his knees, and his face buried in his arms.

That, coupled with the crying fit going on inside side guest room, made for quite the scene.

It was, to put it mildly, a little concerning. 

“Uh, Bruce?” he said, cautiously, as he made his way down the hallway. Bruce jumped, at the sound of his voice, and snapped his full attention to Dick. 

Wasn’t crying, so at least there was that. Dick had never seen Bruce cry, and he wasn’t sure how he’d handle _that._

He could always try to comfort Bruce the way Bruce always comforted _him,_ but he had a feeling hugs didn’t really help Bruce. 

“You’re back early,” Bruce said, his voice not at all betraying any of the turmoil Dick could _see_ in Bruce’s eyes. Whoever that kid throwing a fit was, Bruce already cared about them. 

Which… which was something Dick wasn’t sure how to feel about. 

“Yeah, Wally ate _all_ the food,” he said, and Bruce just nodded because, yeah. Wally was like that. “Did ya kidnap a kid or something?”

“No,” Bruce said, with a sigh, “He didn’t want to go to a hospital, or the police, and I couldn’t leave him on the street injured to be kidnapped or starve to death.” 

Right. So he was a street kid. They ran into those sometimes, but… “So you brought him here?” Why would Bruce just… tell a random kid like that? One who was _clearly_ not happy to be there. 

“Batman dropped him off, yes” Bruce said.

Ah. 

So, didn’t tell him. 

That made even _less_ sense. 

Although, Bruce meeting a kid at a circus and bringing him home also made no sense… Was Bruce honestly taking in another kid? Why did Bruce _need_ another kid? Had he been thinking about it for awhile, or was it a spur of the moment decision? He would have _told_ Dick, if it was premeditated, _right?_

“What?” he asked, crossing his arms and scowling, just a touch, down at Bruce, “I’ve been spending too much time with the team lately, so you go and get a new kid?” 

Bruce blinked, and snapped his eyes back to Dick, from where he’d been looking at his own hands. His eyes went wide, and he spluttered at Dick, clearly at a complete loss for words. 

And…

Well. Dick hadn’t _actually_ thought Bruce would just go and replace him. Not really.

He… he’d had hoped not, at least. But seeing Bruce hadn’t even _considered_ it as an option?

Well. It definitely felt good.

“Dick,” Bruce finally said, “I—I could _never…”_ But when Dick grinned, Bruce trailed off and relaxed his shoulders dramatically. 

“He’s homeless,” Bruce explained, “He needed a place to stay. Leslie suggested it.” 

“ _Leslie_ suggested it,” Dick repeated, rolling his eyes. He highly doubted _Leslie_ suggested it. Most likely _Bruce_ came up with the idea, and Leslie _approved_ of it.

He wondered if the kid in there had approved of it, though. Clearly he was horribly upset about something. 

“So, uh, why’s he throwing a fit?” 

Bruce sighed, and buried his face back into his hands as he said, “He thinks he’s been trafficked.” 

“Oh.”

That… that wasn’t good. No wonder the poor kid sounded so upset. He was probably _terrified._

Hadn’t anyone explained _anything_ to him? 

“He thinks Batman sold him to me,” Bruce said, distraught, “And I can’t convince him otherwise. He barricaded the door and has been in there, crying, for half an hour.” 

“How old is he?” 

With another sigh, Bruce said, “I don’t know. About nine?”

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know?” Dick demanded. How did Bruce take home a kid and _not_ know his age? Was the kid even an orphan? Was it even _legal_ for them to take the kid in? 

“I was going to find out this morning,” Bruce nearly exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically, “After he got some sleep and was more relaxed. He got nearly kidnapped last night and was injured. He was too high strung to get more than ‘F you’ out of.” 

“How’d you get him here, then?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Bruce, because if the kid hadn’t shared _anything_ about himself, Dick _highly doubted_ he’d consented to coming to Wayne Manor.

“Leslie sedated him.” 

_Of course_ she did. The kid being terrified was _completely justified._

“Do you at least know his name?” Dick exasperated. 

“Jason.” 

Dick nodded once, and turned toward his own room, which shared a wall with Jason’s. “Fine,” he said, waving his hand in the air as he walked toward his room, “I’ll go clean up your mess, per the usual.” 

“Thank you, Dick,” Bruce said, and it sounded sincere. 

Bruce _never_ said ‘thank you.’ 

It almost made Dick stop and gawk. 

Instead, he just hummed, “Mhm,” and entered his room, heading straight for one of the windows. 

There was a tree right outside his window. Large, probably about 100 years old. Dick often wondered if the tree had been there as long as the Manor. It was so large, it was quite easy to climb out onto and down, whenever he wanted. It _also_ allowed him to climb from his bedroom to one of the windows outside Jason’s room. 

Carefully, Dick made his way from branch to branch, until he was right outside the kid’s room, then he peered inside to get a sense of what he was walking into. 

The room was a mess. 

It looked like Jason had thrown every single thing he could move onto the ground. The dresser had been pushed up against the bedroom door, and Jason himself wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

That is, until Dick looked closer. Because Jason was certainly in there, he was just _tiny._ His bright red cast, which went above his elbow, was the first thing Dick noticed. 

And how he had squished himself up between the end table and the wall, in the far left corner of his room. He’d probably chosen that spot because it put the most furniture between him and the door as possible. 

Dick rapped at the window three times, before he forced it open. The windows all had locks, of course, but Bruce had made them smart, so they’d open for one of _them,_ but no one else. So the window clicked unlocked, when he tugged once, then slid open effortlessly. 

Jason pushed himself backward, then said, rather wearily, “Fuck off.” 

Poor kid had clearly already cried himself out, because he’d stopped, but was still a mess of hiccups. His face was splotchy red, too, and his cheeks smeared with half-dried tears. 

He really did look about nine. 

And in dire need of a hug. 

Although, he probably would _not_ appreciate a hug. Or being touched at all. 

“Hey,” Dick said, as he slid into the bedroom and shut the window behind him. They had the AC going. Alfred would not be happy if Dick left the window open for any period of time. 

“Let me go or go away,” Jason said, still in the same, tired, voice. At least he was talking. That was _definitely_ more than the ‘F you’ Bruce said he got. 

“We’re not keeping you prisoner.” 

At least, he hoped they weren’t. Dick would lobby extensively if this kid _really_ didn’t want to stay there. He’d call the commissioner, himself, if that’s what it took. But if the kid didn’t want cops, it wasn’t likely he’d _appreciate_ that being the solution to this entire conundrum. 

Because being released back out onto the streets was never going to be an option for him. 

Jason sat up and scowled, and said forcefully, “Then let me go.” 

“You’re hurt.” 

“See,” Jason shouted, his face crumpling as he clearly fought the urge to start crying again, “Just go away.” 

Dick frowned, then stepped a few more paces into the room. He sat down, right in the middle of the floor, so he was still a good ten feet away from Jason, but now sitting more at his level. 

“Bruce said you got hurt last night and didn’t want to go to a hospital.” 

“ _No,”_ Jason refuted, nearly shouting, “Batman _kidnapped_ me and _sold me_ to Bruce Fucking Wayne.” After a couple shaky inhales, he started crying again and added, “I— I'm not— I can’t.” 

“Hey, hey,” Dick said, scooching forward, before he stopped himself again when Jason pressed himself against the wall behind him, “Shhh. It’s okay. Bruce ain’t gonna hurt you, I promise. First off, I’d never let him, but second he’s not like that. I _promise._ ” 

“What are you, like, his kid? Of course you’d say shit like that about your own dad.” 

“No, I’m not his kid,” Dick said, but he saw Jason’s point. He most certainly _was_ biased, and Jason had no reason to trust him. _Especially_ since he didn’t know they were Batman and Robin. 

He wondered if Bruce would let Dick tell Jason all that. He still wasn’t letting him tell his own team about it… Sure Wally knew, but sometimes Dick wished Bruce would just trust his judgement. 

“Then he kidnapped you, too,” Jason said, crossing his arms as best he could with the giant cast on his left arm, “and he brainwashed you into thinking he’s nice. That’s what kidnappers _do._ ”

Dick grinned. This kid was pretty funny, with how ridiculous he was. Stubborn. He was stubborn. No wonder Bruce liked him enough to kidnap him. 

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand, “I’m his ward.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and asked, “What does that mean?” 

“Like, foster kid, I guess. He’s my foster dad, but we don’t really use those terms. He doesn’t act like my dad or anything. He’s more like my partner.” 

“I knew it,” Jason exclaimed, his face screwing up into something of a panic again. 

“No, no, no,” Dick said quickly, “Not like _that,_ geez. I meant like, _business_ partner.” 

“You’re just a kid, how can you be his business partner. Do you brainwash the new kids for him so he doesn’t touch _you.”_

His stubbornness was not quite as funny anymore. 

“Okay,” he said, “Now you’re just being mean to be mean.” 

“Fuck. You,” Jason said, as a pout settled on his face and he sank down against the wall, his face now hiding partially behind his knees, so Dick could’t see it. 

“No thanks,” Dick said, trying to sound completely genuine and not annoyed at all, “No one wants that from you.” 

“Then what _do_ you want?”

“Your name.” He knew his name was Jason, obviously, but it was polite to, like, do introductions, or something. 

“You haven’t even told me yours, asshole,” Jason said, and Dick just grinned. 

“It’s ‘Dick,’ actually.” 

Jason did not appreciate the joke as much as Dick did, because he screamed, “Fuck you,” in response. 

“Richard Grayson,” Dick said, shifting so he was sitting up on his knees, just tall enough now to see Jason’s face, over his knees, “Dick for short. Now what’s your name?”

“What kind of fucking name is that?” Jason drawled, scowling at Dick. 

“The one my parents gave me.” 

It took a minute. Jason sniffled again, and pouted down at his knees as he scrubbed his face with his good arm, then finally mumbled, “I’m Jason Todd.” 

“Well, nice to meet ya, Jason Todd. How old are you?”

“Nine.” 

Bruce was right on the money. Poor kid. Dick could give Bruce his name and age, and most likely he’d have Jason’s entire file pulled up by the end of breakfast. No need to further interrogate him, to figure out everything else about him. 

Like, whether he was an actual orphan, available for Bruce to just kidnap and keep. Or missing child. Or something else. 

_Was_ Bruce trying to keep Jason, or was this just a temporary thing, while Bruce tried to talk Jason into a foster home? From Bruce’s words, he’d assume the later, but from his _actions…_

Oh well. 

Obviously Jason didn’t trust Bruce. So Dick would just have to try harder to be his friend and win his trust. 

It was maybe possible.

“That’s cool,” he said, “I’m fourteen.” 

All Jason did was nod, still sniffling a little. Not much, anymore, though. He probably wasn’t going to start crying again.

Hopefully. 

“You hungry, Jason?” he asked. Because _Dick_ was still hungry. 

Jason looked at him miserably, searching his face for who knew what. After a moment, he finally nodded, wrapping his free arm tightly around his stomach as he did. 

“Cool,” Dick said, bouncing to his feet and stepping a little closer, to offer Jason a hand up, “Come on, I bet we can get Alfred to make us chocolate chip pancakes.” Pancakes were probably the perfect thing to help cheer Jason up a little. 

Who could be sad with chocolate chips in their pancakes?

Well. Probably kids afraid they’d been trafficked, but hopefully they’d be able to convince Jason that wasn’t the case pretty quickly. 

After staring at Dick’s outstretched hand for a second, he reached forward and took it, pulling himself to his feet with a lot more strength than Dick was expecting from a nine-year-old. 

“Who’s Alfred,” Jason asked, sounding just as miserable as he looked. 

And, oh. Chocolate chip pancakes probably weren’t going to be enough. Because instead of taking a step toward trusting them, Dick had a feeling Jason had given up, and was just resigning himself to his fate. 

It was going to take a long while to convince the kid they meant him no harm, Dick just knew. 

If only Dick could hug him… 

“He’s the best,” he said gently, as he made his way across the room and started moving the dresser away from the door, “He’s Bruce’s butler, but he’s way cooler than a normal butler. He raised Bruce, you know? Kind of like Bruce is me. And he makes the _best_ cookies. We should ask him for cookies later.” 

Jason sniffed one more time, rubbing at his face again as Dick finished freeing the door. Once he was able to, he opened the door and bounced outside, where Bruce was already standing, staring at the door like he was afraid they’d come out screaming. 

“Hey Bruce,” Dick exclaimed, grinning as he motioned for Jason to follow. Jason did, but kept Dick between himself and Bruce, which was fine. Dick was happy to be a bodyguard. 

He’d even punch Bruce, if that would make Jason feel better. Bruce probably wouldn’t even mind. 

“This is Jason Todd,” he said, keeping his voice chipper, “He’s nine. We’re gonna go see if Alfred will make us chocolate chip pancakes.” 

Bruce nodded jerkily, and said, “Hi, Jason. Are you feeling any better?”

Dick felt Jason’s hand touch his back, just briefly, as Jason ducked a little more behind him. It made Bruce frown, but that was okay. Bruce could be upset. 

At least Jason was out of his room. 

Grinning, Dick turned a little so he could wrap an arm around Jason’s shoulders, keeping himself between Jason and Bruce the whole time. “Come on, Jay,” he said, as he started leading Jason toward the stairs, away from Bruce. 

And when Jason simply took a deep breath, and didn’t pull away, Dick smiled wider. 

It wasn’t a hug, but it was close.

“I know you’re scared,” Dick said gently, after he’d let go and bounced down the stairs, with Jason still next to him, walking much more stiffly, “and that’s okay, but you don’t have to be scared. There’s nothing to be scared of here.” 

Jason didn’t respond, but he’d at least listened.

At that point, that was probably all Dick could ask for. They _had_ just kidnapped the kid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhhhh, that totally wasn't the end. Do y'all think I can write another chapter tomorrow? 😆 My test results came back today. Negative. SHOCKER. 🙄 But I get to go back to work tomorrow and Friday, so no sitting around at home for me. IM GONNA TRY THOUGH. It'd be neat to just write everything for this all within a week, wouldn't it? I'm definitely not promising that, but it'll be cool to shoot for it, anyway. I WAS supposed to be on vacation this week, so I'm not reallllly messing with the schedule of my other fics, right???? Haha (just pretend with me)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-did the tags, so be sure to read those because the new ones are gonna be the blanket trigger warnings for this entire fic. Tags will likely continue to change as I keep writing, because I'm really just making this up as I go along, and that's not my typical style.

Jason wasn’t sure what to make of ‘Dick’ Grayson. The fact he went by _that_ was _not_ helping his case, at all. 

But Dick seemed genuine. And he let Jason hide behind him, instead of pushing him toward Bruce so Bruce could grab him or whatever, so that was nice. And then he actually took Jason _away_ from Bruce, cause they left Bruce upstairs in the hall. Bruce hadn’t followed them at all. 

Still didn’t help that Bruce had fucking _bought_ him. 

He— he thought he’d escaped that, when he managed to get away from his “foster home.” 

It wasn’t a foster home at all. It was a front for fucking Moroni’s gang. The social workers and cops were all in on it. They’d taken Jason to pay for his mom’s debts. 

Jason was _not_ chattel and he refused to be treated as such. And he was _not doing anything for anyone._

_Ever._

Not that he had a choice anymore... he’d been fucking _lucky_ to get away the first time. It was highly unlikely he could do it again. 

Especially not now, not from _Bristol._ And if Jason’s suspicions were right, they were gonna try and brainwash him first, and that’s why Bruce kept insisting he hadn’t bought Jason. Dick didn’t deny it, though. Just insisted Bruce wouldn’t hurt Jason.

Dick probably actually believed it wasn’t “hurting.” 

There was no way Jason was gonna let himself be brainwashed. 

He thought Batman was supposed to be one of the _good guys._

Clearly that was a total and complete lie. 

It made sense, now that he thought about it. Batman had to get his money from somewhere, and considering he had easy access to kids no one would ever miss, it was a pretty easy operation. Pick up a worthless street rat, sell him to some rich creep, make bank. He wondered how much he got sold for. 

His dad always told him heroes weren’t real. He’d never believed him until now. 

He wondered if his dad knew where he was. That he’d been sold, just like he’d always tried to prevent happening. Sold twice now. Jason remembered several times growing up his dad protecting him from asshats trying to snatch him in exchange for mom or dad’s debts. 

Did his dad care, now? Or did Jason not matter to him anymore? Now that he was in jail forever and Jason was useless to him. Couldn’t make him steal shit or use him as an excuse to get out of stuff. 

Was it was weird that Jason missed his dad? His asshole of a dad who was almost never nice to him, except when he was protecting him from other people. His dad didn’t particularly deserve to be missed, but Jason wished with all his being his dad hadn’t been in jail, so he could have been there when Mom died. Been there and _protected_ him. 

No matter how hard Jason tried, he couldn’t protect himself. He was still too little. 

Dick kept skipping along, like he had no cares in the world, and led Jason through the maze that was Wayne Manor. They passed what had to be six different living rooms. Why the hell did a single house with like three people in it need so many? 

Finally, they reached a kitchen, and Dick bounced in, eagerly, motioning for Jason to follow. 

“Hey Alfie,” Dick said cheerfully, and fuck this kid did everything cheerfully didn’t he? “Have you met Jason yet?”

‘Alfie’ was an old dude. Like, old old. Probably _sixty._ He didn’t look particularly threatening. 

In fact, he looked the exact opposite. Especially in his fancy collared shirt with an apron over it. Jason had seen people dress like him in movies, and rich people always dismissed them as ‘the help.’ 

Because of that, he probably wasn’t gonna like, hurt Jason himself or anything. 

“I have not,” Alfred said, turning around from where he was fixing eggs on the stove and smiled warmly, “it is a pleasure to know you, young sir. I am sorry you have had such a rough morning, so far, but hopefully we can turn it around for you.”

But, if Alfred just stood by while Bruce Fucking Wayne bought children, well. Jason had no respect for him, no matter how nice he acted.

Also why was he calling _Jason_ ‘sir??’ 

All Jason did was stare, and after a minute both Alfred and Dick frowned at him. 

What the fuck was he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry I’m upset a pedo fucking bought me??’ Yeah, right. 

“Hey, Alfie,” Dick said, when he finally gave up on waiting for Jason to respond, “could we have chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast?” 

“You want chocolate _in_ the pancakes,” Alfred asked, liked he’d never heard of such a thing. Based on the mischief Jason could see in his eyes, though, he was just teasing Dick. 

Either Dick didn’t catch that, or _both_ of them were just trying to make Jason smile. 

He wasn’t going to. 

“Yeah,” Dick exclaimed, “It sounds good, right Jason?” Dick elbowed Jason, lightly, so Jason just scowled and took a step to the side, further away from Dick. 

It didn’t matter how the pancakes were prepared or what was in them. It didn’t change _anything._

“I can also prepare blueberry pancakes, if that sounds more appetizing,” Alfred said. 

This time, they both stared at Jason expectantly for _way too long,_ so Jason crossed his arms best he could, and mumbled, “It doesn’t matter.”

Alfred must have taken that as agreement that blueberries were better, because he smiled again and said, “I will make a batch of each. If you lads take a seat, I’ll get that started forthwith.” 

With nothing else to do, Jason took a seat at the island Alfred motioned to. It was a little awkward, climbing up with just one arm to try and keep the stool still _and_ help pull himself up, but Jason figured it out without Dick’s help. Even though Dick reached out like he wanted to help anyway.

Jason just glared at him. 

Instead of sitting down, too, Dick walked over to a cabinet and pulled out two plastic cups. “You want some juice?” He asked, when he went and opened the fridge.

He _was_ thirsty, so Jason nodded. He’d done way too much crying, and really needed something to wash the feeling away. 

“Orange or apple,” Dick asked, but Jason just shrugged. It didn’t matter. Nothing Jason wanted mattered anymore, and he refused to let them make him _think_ it did by getting to him with little choices like _apple or orange juice_ or _chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes._

At least they were feeding him, he supposed. Probably. He hadn’t had a good meal in a week, at that point. He’d got his hands on a bag of chips the day before, and half a sandwich the day before that. It was a little scary how he didn’t really feel hungry, anyway, despite knowing he wasn’t eating enough. He knew that was _bad._

He couldn’t do much about it, though. He had no money and none of the other kids were letting him scavenge through the good dumpsters. He had to pick through the garbage cans at the park when the cops weren't looking, and hope someone had thrown out part of their lunch or something. 

The one nice bigger kid he’d met the week before had told him he’d get better at it. “The first month is the hardest.” Either Jason would get better at it, or he’d die.

Jason had been determined not to die, that was what he put all his energy into. Not dying.

Getting kidnapped was way worse than dying. 

Dick sat a glass of orange juice down in front of him, so Jason picked it up and took a small sip, letting the flavor wash away the taste of crying.

“So, were you in fourth grade this year?” Dick asked, after Jason had downed most of his juice. Jason only nodded, so Dick continued, “Cool. So fifth grade this year. I liked fifth grade, it was a fun year.” 

Well good for him, Jason wanted to say, but he decided on not saying anything. He didn’t want to think about school and how he’d probably never go again. 

“I skipped sixth grade,” Dick continued blabbering, “so I’m ahead a grade now. I just finished ninth grade so I’ll be in tenth this year.” 

“You go to school?” Jason blurted out, because _what?_ Trafficked kids did _not_ go to school. Obviously. They had no _use_ for school anymore.

School was for kids who had _futures._ Futures beyond eventually boring their kidnappers and getting murdered. 

“Well, yeah,” Dick said, like Jason had just asked something stupid, “it’s kind of the law.” 

_So was not kidnapping people,_ Jason wanted to scream.

But that wouldn’t do any good. _Dick_ probably wasn’t to blame. 

Probably.

Even though it was clear he really _was_ just Bruce’s kid.

Which was great.

It meant he couldn’t trust a fucking word Dick said about Bruce. 

“I guess you can be homeschooled,” Dick said, after a moment of contemplation. It startled Jason, briefly, until he realized Dick meant the hypothetical ‘you’ and not Jason personally. “I was homeschooled before I moved here, but that’s because we moved around too much. I was with a traveling circus, you know.” 

Jason didn’t know. He also didn’t believe Dick. 

That must have showed on his face, because Dick said, “No, really! My parents and I were known as the Flying Graysons! We were trapeze artists, tell him, Alfred.” 

“Master Dick is telling the truth,” Alfred said, from where he was quietly cooking up the pancakes, “The three broken chandeliers I’ve had to clean up over the years are proof enough.” 

“Oops,” Dick said, grinning cheekily, “Lesson learned: Don’t swing from chandeliers.” 

Why the fuck would anyone even try once? And why did it take Dick _three times_ to learn that lesson?

“Yes,” Alfred said dryly, “Please don’t. A trip to the emergency room is never pleasant.”

“Ah,” Alfred said, a second later, before Jason could decide if he was going to respond at all, “There you are, Master Bruce.”

Jason froze, and then tried his best to stop being frozen. Because obviously he was gonna have to face Bruce eventually. As much as he wanted to stay barricaded in that room forever, so he never had to see any of them ever, it was obvious _no one_ would allow that. 

He was honestly a little surprised no one had said anything at all about it to him, yet. But they were all still being nice to him, trying to convince him they _were_ nice. 

Bruce grunted, and walked over to where Alfred had a cup of coffee sitting, apparently waiting for him. Everyone fell silent, as Bruce sipped at the coffee, and pointedly did not turn around and look at Jason or Dick. 

“Breakfast will be done momentarily,” Alfred said, once the silence had become almost too tense to handle, “why don’t you two go set the table.” 

By ‘you two,’ Alfred meant Dick and Bruce. Jason stayed sitting at the island, while he watched the two of the collect up plates and forks and knives and stuff and carry them all into the dining room, where apparently they were going to eat. 

What the heck was the island for, then? Jason kind of wanted to stay in the kitchen, with Alfred. He wasn’t even sure why, because it wasn’t like Alfred could protect him. 

Not even Dick could protect Jason. He knew that. Knew it logically, at least. But when he was shooed into the dining room so Alfred could ‘serve’ breakfast, he chose to sit with Dick between him and Bruce. That way he could at least _pretend_ for a little while that Dick _could_ protect him. 

Breakfast ended up being _way_ more than just pancakes. Alfred made eggs and sausage, too, and put a little bit of everything on his plate. 

And when he said ‘a little bit,’ he meant so much food, Jason felt sick just looking at it. There was no way he’d be able to eat all of it. 

In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat more than a few bites without getting sick, because his stomach had been flipping upside down _all morning._

“So,” Dick said, after Jason had managed to clumsily cut a piece of sausage with his good hand and take a bite, “You know how long you’ll be stuck in that cast?”

Jason didn’t even remember _getting_ the cast, so no, obviously not. He shook his head, and focused on chewing his food and swallowing it, willing his stomach not to reject anything. He wasn’t sure when they’d feed him next, so he couldn’t just not. Food was a really super easy way to control people, and Jason _hated_ his brain for knowing that and reminding him of it, when he was trying to convince his stomach to be still and let him eat. 

“Doctor Leslie said we’ll have to go back next week for another x-ray,” Bruce said, making Jason flinch a little. Bruce definitely noticed, because he paused, but then hesitantly continued with, “and it’s probably going to be about six or eight weeks.” 

Great. 

Not only was he going to be completely unable to defend himself _at all_ for _two whole months,_ but he also had to go back and see the evil doctor who drugged him so he could get kidnapped again. 

Just perfect. 

He hated his life so much. 

Jason stabbed a couple pieces of scrambled egg onto his fork, and tried to convince his arm to move the fork into his mouth. But he couldn’t, because he was 98.7% sure he was about to throw up. 

That one half of a sausage link was not being nice to his stomach. Or his stomach wasn’t being nice to it. 

“Your bloodwork came back,” Bruce said, tilting his head and watching Jason fight with his arm to keep eating, “You’re malnourished. It’s why you passed out yesterday. You can’t afford to skip meals.” 

“No,” he asserted, “that doctor drugged me.” Did Bruce think he was stupid? Obviously he did. 

Or maybe he didn’t know ‘Doctor Leslie’ drugged him. He wasn’t there, after all. 

Bruce frowned, and grumbled, “I meant before that,” as he started pushing some of his own breakfast around on his plate. 

Right. When Batman was chasing him and doing everything he could to keep Jason from escaping. 

“Batman probably drugged me.” Jason definitely wouldn’t put it past the bastard. 

Apparently Bruce didn’t like Jason disparaging his supplier, because he clenched his teeth, then sighed. _Loudly._

And Jason had the overwhelming urge to cry again. 

But he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t safe in that room anymore, with the dresser pushed up against the door, and Bruce safely stuck _outside_ and Jason secure _inside_ where no one could get him and make him stop crying. 

He wasn’t in there anymore, because Bruce sent Dick in and proved that _no where_ was safe, no matter what. 

Jason took a shuddering breath, and tried to focus on eating. Moving the fork to his mouth and taking a bite of the eggs. 

That’s how breakfast passed for a good five minutes or so. Jason focused on one bite at a time, and somehow managed to get about a third of his plate into his stomach without throwing up or crying. Dick and Bruce quietly ate their breakfasts, too. 

But then Bruce said, “I put your room back together,” like he were trying to make conversation, and Jason had to pause eating to clench his teeth shut. 

Because he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel _bad_ about making a huge mess or not. And where Bruce was going with it. 

He _didn’t_ feel bad about it. He had every _right_ to be mad at all of them. But he also knew it was very very easy for Bruce to _make_ him sorry. 

“I’m going to run to the hardware store after breakfast,” Bruce continued, staring down at his plate rather than up at Jason, “and get a locking doorknob.”

And yep, Jason was going to be sick. All of his breakfast was going to—

“I’ll let you help me install it, if you want” Bruce pressed on, apparently unconcerned that Jason was definitely about to lose his breakfast all over the table. He kind of hoped it ruined Bruce’s appetite. “That way you can be sure the only copies of the keys remain with you.” 

… “What?” he squeaked. 

There was no way he just heard Bruce right. Right?

“I—“ Bruce started, rubbing at the side of his face as he _finally_ looked up from his plate and at Jason, “I want you to feel safe in there. It’s your room. No one is allowed in there without your permission, and, I thought, maybe a keyed lock would help. Where you could lock it from inside, but only a key can open it from outside, and only you have the key…” 

Jason was openly gawking at Bruce now. Because _that_ made no sense. _At all._ Jason understood all the little choices. The being treated like part of the family, kind of, with breakfast at the table and what not. Trying to convince him they were nice, but a lock on his door? That _he_ controlled?

Maybe… maybe Bruce understood how easy it was to pick locks, and this was just another thing to make Jason _think_ he was safe and Bruce was nice. 

“Locks are easy to pick,” he said, because he was _not_ playing this game. 

“We can also install a chain or something,” Bruce stammered, “Or one of those pins. A privacy lock? Those are impossible to defeat from outside. Have to knock down the door.” 

By the end of his little speech, Bruce was outright mumbling, and all Jason could do was stare. 

Stare, because what the _fuck_ was going on?

“I mean it, I want that room to be your sanctuary, okay?” 

“Fine,” Jason huffed, “Can I go there now, then?”

“You don’t want to finish eating?” Bruce asked, but then Dick shot Bruce a glare, and Bruce quickly said, “Yeah. Sure. Dick and I will come up later to fix the door, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason mumbled, as he pushed away from the table and got up. He’d believe it when he saw it. 

And probably not even then. 

\- - - 

Jason spent about three hours in ‘his’ room, lying in bed, hiding deep under the covers. Finding a comfortable position to hold his arm was difficult, but once he found a spot, he refused to move. He tried his best to nap, so he could pass the time quicker and stop being tormented by his stupid brain _thinking,_ but no matter how hard he tried, sleep would not find him. 

True to his words, Bruce and Dick came upstairs a few hours later, and Dick knocked on his door, cheerfully calling, “Jason? We got the stuff to fix your door, can we come in?”

He didn’t want to let them in, but he did anyway. 

Bruce tried to get Jason to ‘help,’ by removing the screws from the old doorknob, or helping measure where the chain would go, but Jason refused to get within reach of Bruce, even though he could tell it was annoying the shit out of Bruce. 

But Bruce was super insistent that Jason watch as Bruce opened the new doorknob, which had the privacy lock feature he’d talked about, so he could show Jason how the keys were inside a little box and no one had seen them yet. Bruce didn’t even open the little box but, instead, slid it across the floor so it bumped up against Jason’s feet. 

“There,” Bruce said, “only you have the keys. You can keep them with you at all times, if you want.”

Right. Because Bruce couldn’t just grab Jason and take the keys off him. 

Or break the door down.

_Or send Dick in through the window to unlock the door for him, from inside._

“Oh,” Dick exclaimed, bouncing up from where he’d been knelt in front of the door, helping Bruce install the knob, “I know just the thing.” 

Before Jason could protest, Dick ran off, leaving Bruce alone with Jason. Inside the room. 

Bruce didn’t look at him, though. He did the opposite, actually, and turned his back toward Jason a little more as he aligned the new lock into the doorframe. It only kind of helped keep Jason from getting sick again. 

Dick returned a minute later, though, and bounced over to Jason, a chain dangling in his hands. “Here,” he exclaimed, shoving the chain at Jason, “you can put the keys on it so it’s like a necklace. That way you never forget them and you won’t accidentally lock yourself out of the room.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Bruce said, and Jason just scowled at them both. 

But he took the stupid chain and looped the keys onto it, so hopefully they’d go away quicker. 

They didn’t go away. 

Once they got the chain installed and the new doorknob working, and made Jason try it out to see how the ‘privacy lock’ worked on the knob so he could ‘be sure’ it was impossible to open the door from the outside, even _with_ the key, if Jason had the little tab pushed, they still didn’t go away.

Dick looked around the room appraisingly and said, “Your room looks a little bare. There’s nothing fun to do in here.”

 _Fuck him,_ of course there wasn’t anything fun to do. 

“Hm,” Bruce said, looking around, himself, “True.”

_Fuck them both._

“We have a lot of my old stuff downstairs,” Dick exclaimed, and Jason couldn’t tell if he was talking to Bruce or to him, “Toys and games and stuff from when I was your age. We can definitely move some of it in here.” 

Bruce smiled and nodded. “That’s a great idea, Dick.”

“I’m not falling for it,” Jason snapped, scowling at them. Wishing they’d just _go away._

“It… it’s not a trick,” Dick said, frowning hard. And _fuck him_ for being all sad about it. Maybe he should fuck off and go be a normal kid somewhere away from Jason, so Jason didn’t have to deal with it. 

“But, you don’t have to be bored while you’re ‘not falling for it,’ you know?” Dick said after a beat, “At least with games or books or something, you’ll have something to distract your mind…” 

_Dammit._

Jason hated how much he wanted a distraction. 

_“_ Come on,” Dick said, grabbing onto Bruce’s arm and dragging him out of the room, “Let’s go see what we can find.” When Jason didn’t immediately follow, he shouted, from down the hall, “Come on, Jay. We can’t know what you like if you aren’t with us to tell us!”

Grumbling to himself, Jason slipped the stupid key necklace around his neck and followed Dick and Bruce downstairs. They started in a hall closet, that looked like a game closet, and Dick started pulling out puzzles and board games to show Jason, trying to make Jason say whether he liked whatever it was. 

All Jason did was scowl. 

“Look,” Dick finally said, after Jason had refused to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for the fifteenth time to _another_ version of some game called ‘memory,’ “Bruce said you’re gonna be here for a few weeks, and probably _at least_ until your arm is all healed. And I know you’re scared and mad at Bruce, so you’re probably gonna hide in your room _a lot._ Am I wrong?” 

Why would Jason _hide_ somewhere they knew where he was? 

Dick sighed, then turned back to the game closet. “Fine,” he said, “Then I’ll pick stuff for you.” 

It was _maybe_ a little slightly amusing how Dick started shoving things at Bruce, making Bruce awkwardly hold a whole big stack of random puzzle and game boxes. Somehow, he managed to balance ten boxes in his arms before he finally said, “Okay, I think that’s enough for now. I’ll bring these upstairs, why don’t you two go look in the library for books or something.” 

Jason had to try really, _really_ hard not to get even a touch excited at the knowledge _there was a library._

He shouldn’t fucking care what his damned kidnapper had. He wasn’t going to fall for _any_ of this shit. _This was how kids got brainwashed._

“And this is our library,” Dick said, after he’d skipped down the hall and led Jason to a set of double doors. Upon opening it, Jason nearly dropped his jaw. 

Because.

Because.

It was the most beautiful library he’d ever seen in his _life._

And… And it was really fucking hard because he couldn’t appreciate it, because it was owned by _Bruce Fucking Wayne_ and he was _not falling for any of this._

“Hey, no, oh no,” Dick said, reaching out for Jason like he wanted to hug him or something, “Don’t cry.” 

Jason jerked away from his reach, before Dick could so much as touch him, and shouted, “Fuck you,” at him. He _wasn’t_ crying. 

“What’d I do?” Dick asked, sounding so distraught, Jason wanted to punch him. 

He knew that would be a huge mistake, though. All games of nice would end, the very second Jason tried to hurt Bruce’s kid, he just _knew_ it. 

“I’m not stupid,” Jason exclaimed, _not crying._

Much. 

“I didn’t say you were?”

“I seen _Beauty and the Beast,”_ he said, scrubbing at his eyes, trying to make himself stop, “This is how Beast brainwashed Belle into not being mad at him anymore for kidnapping her.”

“What?” Dick exclaimed, “That’s not what I’m doing! That’s not even what happened in that movie!”

“Yes it is,” he shouted, “She had _Stockholm's syndrome._ I’m _not stupid.”_

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Bruce asked, from the doorway behind Jason, and Jason _hated_ how it made him start crying harder. He wanted to scream at Bruce. Scream at him and maybe _stab him._

But Batman took his knife away, and all Jason had were the clothes _Bruce_ had given him and the stupid keys and Jason just wanted to not be there anymore. 

“I don’t know,” Dick said, “I showed him the library and he freaked out.” 

“You can’t brainwash me,” Jason cried, backing away from both Dick and Bruce, so neither of them were anywhere close to him. 

“Sweetheart,” Bruce said, gently, taking a few steps into the room, away from the door, and kneeling down, “No one wants to brainwash you.” 

“Yes you _do,_ that’s what you’re trying to do! I won’t fall for it, I’m _not stupid.”_

“No one thinks you're stupid, kiddo,” Bruce said. 

When all Jason did was let out a few sobs, Bruce sighed and said, “Jason,” in such a broken tone, Jason just wanted to scream. 

So he did.

_“Fuck you.”_

He ran out of the library, barely relieved at all when no one followed him. It didn’t really matter if they followed him or not, because they knew where he was going. 

Even after slamming his door shut and locking it, engaging the stupid ‘privacy lock,’ Jason knew he was trapped. He was trapped, and they would probably, eventually win. 

And there was nothing he could do about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. So originally, when Jason ran out of the room I imagined Dick saying something like "You know, Bruce, consent is super important" and Bruce saying "Yes, thank you for your novel insight, Richard," because, you know, comedy. But then it got super freaking heartbreaking and honestly I think Bruce is trying not to cry right now because he really, royally, screwed this up and he has _no idea_ how to fix it. :) 
> 
> ((Don't worry. I have NO IDEA how many chapters this'll be, but in the end Jason won't be scared anymore because obviously Bruce has loved him (LIKE A SON, JASON) from the instance he saw him-err, heard him. We're just apparently gonna milk the angst potential for all it's worth.))
> 
> Also, no proofreading, because actually I'm totally shocked I wrote 4.5k words today because I had WORK and I'm running an in-game event in like 45 minutes for the dumb game I play and I did not have time to do this, I thought, and yet I did it???? I will proof it probably late tonight or in the morning, so just ignore blatant errors. There's probably at least one tense shift, that's usually my issue when writing fast. LOL


	4. Chapter 4

“Alfred,” Bruce said, sometime well after dinner had passed, when Alfred was busy washing the dishes. Long after Bruce had given up, and allowed that poor child to hide in his bedroom, without so much as an apology from Bruce. 

Although, with as terrified as the lad seemed, Alfred doubted a simple apology would fix the issues Bruce had created. However, the sentiment could not make it _worse._

Bruce had simply mumbled, “But letting him go would be sentencing him to death,” when Alfred suggested they do _something_ other than allowing Jason to throw a fit in his bedroom, as seemed to be Bruce’s current strategy.

Alfred turned, to where Bruce was now standing in the doorway, looking at him pleadingly, his distraught face matching his tone of voice perfectly. When Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, Bruce cleared his throat and said, “He needs a shower.” 

He supposed that was true. Master Jason had been filthy when Bruce brought the lad home. His hair was so unkempt, there was a massive rat’s nest in it, and his fingers were caked with dirt. Alfred had ignored it, in favor of striking up polite conversation with the lad. Of trying to help the poor child feel just a modicum of peace in his otherwise unpeaceful day. 

Despite his attempts, Jason had not calmed. And as the day wore on, and Jason’s nerves frayed more, it became clear exactly _why._

And the more Alfred heard Jason’s shaky, tiny little voice explain everything he _would not_ do for them, the more Alfred’s heart broke. 

“It’s just,” Bruce stammered, when Alfred did not immediately respond, “he has that cast that has to be wrapped, and he probably needs help washing his hair, and I _would_ offer to help him, but I think if I get within ten feet of him he’s going to throw up, and he can’t afford to throw up, he barely ate anything at all today…” 

“I see,” Alfred said, placing the dish he was scrubbing down and rinsing his hands off, “And you think he might not be so terrified of me?” 

Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s worth a shot.” 

Finding Jason a home he was not terrified to be in was also worth a shot, Alfred thought, as he dried his hands off on his apron. But convincing the lad of his safety, himself, _was_ worth a shot. 

The first thing Alfred did was gather all the supplies he needed to help Jason wrap his arm. He decided to run with the tried and true method of the _garbage bag_ with simple duct tape. That, along with several different options for pajamas, as well as a few options for day clothes, for the following day. Jason, so far, hadn’t done well with _options,_ but that did not mean Alfred would start making all his choices for him. 

Jason needed patience, not the new adults in his life steamrolling right over him. 

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, knocking on the lad’s locked door, “May I come in?” 

If Jason told him no, Alfred would set the supplies down and leave. The boy getting his cast wet was a risk Alfred was willing to take, if it meant starting the long, arduous journey of convincing the lad his safety and wishes would be respected in Wayne Manor.

“Why?” Jason groaned, from just inside the door, and Alfred could tell the boy had been crying recently. Which brought the amount of time spent crying to _all day._

“It has been suggested you might wish to shower this evening. I have brought you clean clothes and something to wrap your cast, so you may do that.” 

A full moment passed, during which time Alfred heard no noises come from inside the room. The longer Jason hesitated, the closer Alfred became to setting the supplies down outside the door, and biding the child a good-night. But then, finally, the scraping of a chain could be heard, as the boy unbolted the door, then unlocked the knob. 

He slowly opened the door, and poked his face out, so Alfred offered him a kind smile and full view of the hall around him, to show him Master Bruce had not followed him up. 

Jason allowed Alfred to assist with removing his shirt. The poor lad shook, slightly, at first, and his breathing came out shuddery, but he did not object when Alfred suggested he remove the shirt prior to wrapping his arm. 

When Alfred saw the bruises along his torso, he understood, just a little more, why Bruce had been so adamant Jason needed safety, despite the child’s protests. 

Wrapping his arm was an easy task, and Alfred gave the boy a pair of medical scissors to cut himself out of the bag, once he was done with his shower. “You go take a shower,” he said, once the arm was sufficiently covered, “I will wait in the hall. Once you are done and dressed, come retrieve me and I can assist you with your hair.” 

“I can do my hair myself,” Jason said, a little petulantly, but mostly from the same spot of fear from which every other word he’d uttered that day had come. 

Alfred doubted he could. Not with one arm. Not with his hair as tangled and knotted as it was. 

“Okay,” he said anyway, "but if you are unable to work the tangles out yourself, come get me and I will assist." 

Jason came and got him fifteen minutes later. Distraught, tears running down his face, and a comb stuck in his hair. 

“My dear boy,” Alfred said, hushed, wishing with all his might he could simply hug Jason. Wrap the poor boy up in his arms and hold him, until all his troubles melted away. He’d known the poor boy barely more than twelve hours, and this was how he felt. It was no wonder Bruce had fallen so quickly, as well. 

“I can’t get it out,” Jason said, hiccuping between words, in the way only a child who had spent _hours_ crying did, “It hurts.”

“Come,” Alfred said, motioning for Jason to follow him to a larger bathroom, down the hall. One where, hopefully, Jason would not feel quite so trapped. Quite so scared. 

In the end, the size of the bathroom hadn’t mattered. Alfred helped Jason climb up onto the counter, and lay down with his head dangling over the sink. It gave Alfred access to most of his hair, and allowed the boy to see exactly where Alfred was, at all times. 

Even with those precautions, the tears did not stop streaming down Jason’s face. 

“My dear boy,” Alfred said again, placing his hand gently on the crown of Jason’s head, after he’d teased the comb out and thoroughly wet the hair with warm water, poured from a cup, “You need not be afraid of me.”

“That’s what everyone always says,” Jason replied, miserably, and Alfred supposed he was right. 

It was going to take much more than mere words, to convince Jason they meant him no harm. 

“Here,” he said, after wiping his hand off on his apron and retrieving his phone. He navigated quickly to his book app, where he had dozens of audiobooks downloaded. It’d been a newer hobby of his, listening to audiobooks while doing housework, but so far he’d been enjoying it. It was an excellent distraction, at times, and right now what Jason needed most was a distraction. “Why don’t you pick a book out.” 

Jason stared at the phone in his hand for several long, hard seconds, before he took a deep breath and slowly started scrolling. 

Content, Alfred placed a little soap on his hands, and started working on Jason’s hair. 

His hair was filthy. Absolutely disgusting. It was clear he hadn’t washed his hair since running away, which by Bruce’s estimates had happened merely a month prior. But based on the tangles, Alfred would not be surprised if the boy hadn’t cleaned his hair properly since his mother died, two months prior. That was, as far as Bruce could tell, the last time Jason had someone caring for him. At least, those were the assumptions Bruce had shared with Alfred, earlier in the day.

“How do you make it play,” Jason asked, after a few minutes had passed in silence. 

Alfred looked down at the phone, and saw Jason had selected _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,_ and smiled fondly. That was the _perfect_ distraction book. It also happened to be one of Alfred’s favorites, so he had recently finished listening to it. Which was why the book was refusing to start when Jason clicked play. 

“You must rewind it,” Alfred said, as he continued gently massaging Jason’s scalp, slowly working through each tangle, one at a time. “It is stuck on the dead space at the end.” 

“Oh,” Jason said, lifting the phone up so he could see the screen better. It was a little cumbersome, the way Jason had to set the phone down, letting it sit on his cast, leaning against his legs, so he could use his only free hand to drag the progress bar to the beginning again. 

The book began, and Jason closed his eyes, clearly trying to lose himself in the world of Douglas Adams. 

\- - - 

It took thirty minutes to finish Jason’s hair. Alfred kept working at it, slowly pulling the tangles out by hand, until he was able to run a wide tooth comb through his hair, without it snagging on anything. 

He was exceptionally careful, the entire time, so not to tug on Jason’s scalp. By the time he was done, Jason had looked so relaxed, Alfred wondered if he were asleep. 

But the second Alfred finished rinsing his hair, Jason’s eyes opened and it was clear he hadn’t come close to sleeping. And was perhaps not near as relaxed as Alfred had assumed. 

Reluctantly, Jason pressed pause on the book they’d been listening to, and handed the phone back to Alfred. 

“Would you like me to get you that book from the library,” Alfred asked, as he helped Jason sit up and then come down off the counter. 

Jason hesitated, clearly battling with himself over how to answer, but finally did nod. A little jerkily, but it was a nod, so Alfred smiled, and detoured them to the library.

“Would you like anything else?” Alfred asked, after he’d made quick work of retrieving their copy of _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy._

But, of course, Jason shook his head. He hadn’t even stepped inside the library, but instead chose to stand outside, staring blankly in as Alfred found the book. 

When they arrived back at Jason’s bedroom, Jason peeked into the room wearily and took a deep breath, before finally stepping inside. And it broke Alfred’s heart all the more, because it was clear Jason was expecting them to attack him at any second. 

“My dear, sweet boy,” Alfred murmured, from the threshold of Jason’s room. When Jason looked up at him, giving him his tired eyes and blank expression, he asked, “May I come in?” 

Jason shrugged, then turned his head as he sat down on one of the armchairs. His curls, which were starting to come to life as his hair began drying, bounced, and Alfred could not help his smile. Because despite his expression. Despite the terror and exhaustion on his face, Jason was starting to look more and more like a nine-year-old. Alfred hoped they’d get him acting like one, soon, as well. 

Alfred stepped into the room and closed the door, which got Jason to snap his attention back to him, his sharp eyes watching his every move. 

“Master Jason,” Alfred started, not quite sure how to go about the conversation, but determined to drive a point home. One that Bruce should have made _before_ bringing the child home with him. “I promise you, no harm will befall you in this house.” 

It did not register at all, Alfred realized, when all he received in response was Jason’s blank eyes. 

Of course Jason would not believe him. ‘That’s what everyone always says,’ the boy had said. 

Perhaps Alfred would have to make a different kind of promise, then.

“But, lad,” he said, dragging the second armchair in the room closer to Jason, so he could sit and look the boy in the eyes, “If Bruce harms you, I want you to tell me.” 

Jason scrunched his brow, briefly, before he relaxed again and asked, “What?” 

“If he lays a hand on you,” Alfred clarified, “in any way, tell me. I want to know.” 

“Why?” Jason asked, a touch of indignation in his voice, “What would you do?” 

_What do you care,_ Alfred heard Jason’s unspoken question, _Why would you care?_

“I have a shotgun in my quarters,” he said simply. It wasn’t entirely true. Alfred did not keep the gun in his quarters, but desperately terrified nine-year-olds did not need to know the exact location of his gun. Just that he _had_ one. “I will put him down like the dog he is.” 

Jason stilled, his eyes going wide as he stared at Alfred. “What?” Jason said, after he’d thoroughly searched Alfred’s face, and apparently decided Alfred was being genuine, “But… isn’t he like, your kid? Dick said you raised him, like he’s raising Dick.” 

“Yes,” Alfred said, smiling a little at how quickly Jason had picked up on Dick and Bruce’s relationship. Especially considering Dick and Bruce still did not know that about their own relationship. “But if he harms you in the way you fear so desperately, he is not my son.” 

“You’d really,” Jason started, sitting up a little, “But you’d go to jail.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “I suppose I would.” 

All Jason did was lean forward, slightly, and continue to stare at Alfred. Looking at him so searchingly, Alfred could not help it. 

He reached forward and took Jason’s good hand, gently, and cupped it between both of his own. “My dear, sweet boy,” he said, squeezing the hand fondly, “For you, it would be worth it.”

“ _Why?”_

“No child deserves to be harmed,” Alfred said, patting Jason’s hand one more time before he let got and sat back. After a second, he sighed, and added, “and I will not stand by when I can protect a child placed in my care. For better or worse, Bruce brought you into this house, therefore I will protect you with everything I have.” 

“But—“ Jason started, but did not continue, because he burst into tears again.

Alfred could tell, though. He could tell the cry was different from all the other tears he’d shed all day. It was confusion he was full of. Confusion and fear and hope all mixed together. He wanted to believe Alfred so desperately, but was terrified to let himself. 

Patting at Jason’s hand, Alfred let him cry until his tears ceased. He wished there was more he could do to quell Jason’s fears. 

“Now tell me,” he said, once Jason had calmed again and pulled his hand away from Alfred’s, “Do you feel safe in this room?”

Jason sniffed and looked away, but did not answer.

“Did the lock help it feel safer?” he asked. He’d been surprised Bruce had come up with the solution in the first place. _Control_ was not something Bruce often relinquished easily. 

But Jason merely shrugged, which meant _no,_ the lock did _not_ feel safer. 

“Why does the lock not feel safe?” he asked, trying to puzzle through that, himself. As far as he was aware, it was quite literally impossible for Bruce to get past the lock he’d purchased. Not without breaking the door itself. 

Sniffling again, Jason hesitated for a long moment, before he finally mumbled, “Bruce can just make Dick unlock it, like he moved the dresser.” 

“How did Master Dick move the dresser?” Alfred was not aware Dick had been the one to do anything of the sort. 

Jason pointed at the far wall, and sank down a little in his chair as he pulled his knees up to his chest. 

Alfred followed his point, and realized Jason was pointing at the _windows._

“Ah, I see,” he murmured, standing and walking over to the windows to inspect. Of _course_ Master Dick would climb the tree outside and let himself in, via the windows. Inspecting the windows, Alfred thought for a moment. He could simply ban Dick from doing such a thing ever again. He’d most likely listen, since he’d been so distraught at how scared Jason was, but that would do nothing to help _Jason_ feel safer. 

Jason did not trust them. Their word meant nothing to him. 

After opening the window and closing it, testing out the ridiculous smart locks Bruce had insisted on installing on every window of the Manor, Alfred had an idea. “I believe I know a solution. I will be right back.” 

Quickly, Alfred made his way up to the attic, and searched around for a moment before finally locating their old method of securing the windows. 

“What are those?” Jason asked warily, when Alfred returned a moment later with what were essentially three large two-by-fours. 

“These are the old window locks,” he explained, motioning with his head for Jason to follow him to the windows, “Honestly, Master Bruce and his technology. These are perfectly functional, and I believe you will like them.” 

Jason watched, a touch curiously, as Alfred walked him through how to install each of the window stoppers. The windows had been originally designed with the use of stoppers in mind, both for security and for aesthetics, so each stopper sat perfectly into a divot in the frame, allowing it to do its job and prevent the window from opening, without being an eye sore or particularly noticeable. 

“There,” he said, once he had all three window stoppers installed and attempted to open one of the windows, “See. Now the windows can no longer be opened, regardless of whether they are locked.” 

Apparently, that was not enough for Jason, because he looked at Alfred doubtfully and said, “Bruce is a lot bigger than you, though.” 

“Master Bruce might be strong, but not even he can defeat physics,” Alfred said. 

But Jason continued to stare at him doubtfully, so he asked, “Would you like him to demonstrate how secure these are?”

Many emotions flickered across Jason’s face. Each one too quick for Alfred to pin down, but when Jason nodded jerkily, Alfred smiled and said, “I will be right back, lad.” 

Retrieving Master Bruce was not difficult at all. The man was in his study, of course, hiding from the world and knee deep in research on the foster care system. Jason’s entire case had blown the lid off the pure corruption within, and Bruce was determined to fix it. 

It was honorable. Noble. A worthy cause for Bruce to dedicate himself to, but convincing the child he’d so haphazardly kidnapped that he was safe was far more important, in Alfred’s book. 

“I’m afraid one of Master Jason’s windows is stuck, sir,” he said, once Bruce looked up at him, “The lad wanted some fresh air, but I have been unable to get this window to open. Perhaps you can assist us?”

“Sure,” Bruce said, slowly standing and following Alfred back up to Jason’s room. Despite his false confidence, Alfred could tell Bruce was just as nervous about encountering Jason as Jason was scared of Bruce. 

Back up in Jason’s room, Bruce stopped in the doorway and asked, rather awkwardly, “Alfred asked I help get your window open…” 

When Jason shrugged with one shoulder, and looked away from Bruce, Bruce took a step inside and hesitantly approached the windows. 

“The middle one, sir,” Alfred said, when Bruce silently inquired. 

It was amusing how hard Bruce tried to open the window. At first, he clearly did not believe the window was stuck at all, but then when it didn’t so much as budge, he began putting more and more force into his opening attempts. 

After trying about six times to open the window, he narrowed his eyes and inspected the edges of the window, running his nail along, as if looking for spots where dried paint was preventing it from opening. Despite the fact they had not repainted the windows in years. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, when he was inspecting the window’s lock and _finally_ noticed the real reason the window would not open, “You put the the stopper in.” 

“Yes,” Alfred said, smiling fondly, “Thank you for demonstrating they are Bruce-proof.” 

“Alfred,” Bruce said, looking between all three windows, “These are a fire hazard.” 

“You will not remove them,” Alfred said sharply, eliciting a flinch from Bruce. 

Of course Alfred had considered the risks associated with installing the window stoppers. He’d already thought about how allowing the boy to lock himself in his room at all, with no way for anyone to get in from the outside, was a horrible fire hazard. But he’d decided that, as a temporary measure to ensure Jason felt safe, it was a worthy risk. Alfred was more than prepared to bust through a wall, if necessary, to rescue Jason from a fire, as he knew Bruce would do the same. 

“I believe the risk of fire is far exceeded by the risk of this poor child having a heart attack because you’ve scared him so deeply.” 

The look of guilt Bruce had in response made Alfred soften. Because his boy. His _stupid_ boy did not think his plans through nearly as well as he thought he did. 

But he also knew Bruce would die for Jason. He might have known the boy for less than 24 hours, but it was clear he already adored the boy with his entire being. 

Just as had happened with Dick, all those years ago. 

Now, though, Bruce had to back off and allow Jason to come to him. 

“Please inform Master Dick he can no longer enter this room via the windows,” Alfred said. 

“Oh,” Bruce whispered, his eyes gone wide, like he hadn’t even considered why Jason might want the windows better secured. He nodded, stiffly, and turned to Jason. “I’m sorry, Jase. I didn’t think. No one is going to enter this room without your permission again, okay?”

Jason nodded, as he curled back up in the arm chair, his good arm hugging tightly to his knees. 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Alfred said, glad when Bruce took it as the clear dismissal it was and left the room. 

“Now. Can I get you a snack or anything before bed?”

Alfred had hoped Jason would say ‘yes,’ and eat a little more before bed. Or at least shrug, and accept a snack when Alfred brought it, but instead, Jason shook his head and started picking at the lint on the knee of his pajama pants. 

“Are you simply not hungry, or is it something else? I noticed you did not eat much today, and you need to be eating much more if you wish to regain your strength and heal quickly.” 

Jason grimaced, and sank down in his chair a little more, so Alfred walked over and sat down in the chair across from him again, waiting for the boy to answer. 

“I’m just… not hungry,” he eventually said, “I—“ He cut his eyes up to Alfred, then looked back down at his knees before adding, “I feel like I’m going to throw up all the time.” 

Ah. Alfred saw the problem, then. Jason was so terrified, he was making himself sick with worry. “Have you thrown up?” 

“Just last night,” Jason mumbled, before he scrubbed at his face and sank down into his chair even further. How he was comfortable with his broken arm contorted the way it was, squished between his body and his thighs was beyond Alfred, but he was not about to scold the child for anything. 

“Well then, I will go get you something to drink to help settle your stomach,” he said, rising from his seat, “or at least help you stay properly hydrated until your stomach settles itself. I will be back in a few.” 

In the kitchen, Alfred found a couple bottles of gatorade, in different flavors, so Jason could decide which was his favorite, as well as a nice, cold bottle of water to give him. As almost an afterthought, he detoured into the pantry and looked around for something filling to give the poor boy, so _maybe_ he could start eating more. If it truly was fear causing his upset stomach, then perhaps in the safety of his bedroom he’d be able to eat a little more. 

Spotting a large, unopened box of granola bars on the ground, under the shelves, Alfred grabbed it and brought everything up to Jason’s room. 

“Here you are,” he said, once he’d received permission to enter the room again, “I brought you something with electrolytes in it, to help keep properly hydrated. And these,” he said, handing Jason the box of granola bars, which the boy sat up to take, “are for you to eat whenever you feel like. If you run out, let me know and I will be happy to resupply you. And if you do not like them, we can find a different snack to keep stocked in here, all right lad?”

Jason looked down at the box of snacks, then up at Alfred with wide eyes as he nearly hugged the box. When he finally nodded, Alfred smiled and said, “If you need anything else, lad, please do not hesitate to ask me.” 

“Okay,” Jason whispered, and Alfred felt like that was progress enough. He doubted Jason would _actually_ ask, though.

It was going to take them a very long time to fully win Jason’s trust. If it were even possible to do so. In the meantime, _progress_ was something Alfred was willing to settle for.

“Good night, dear boy,” he said as he was exiting the room, “I wish you pleasant dreams.” 

Jason did not answer, but Alfred hadn’t expected him to. And when Alfred shut the door behind him, he heard the lock click only a few seconds later. 

_Progress_ was certainly something he’d take, in the moment. 

He wasn’t sure if Bruce intended on keeping Jason for longer than a few weeks, but regardless of what Jason’s future held for him, Alfred prayed that sweet little boy never had to face his demons again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, last night, when I wrote 1300 words of dialogue for the next chapter: Oh yes. This is a good chapter from Bruce's POV, a good first steps toward trust for Jason.  
> Me, today when driving home from work: actualllyyyyyyyy, Alfred really needs to do all these things first before Jason can even begin to consider maybe talking to Bruce at all.  
> me: (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ 
> 
> No proofing again, because reasons. I'll go and proof the entire thing later. Maybe once I'm done. And I"m not even going to mention how many chapters I think I'm at now because I GeT iT I blow all my projects up massively. 😂 (Still enjoying it. Still would die for Jason. xD) 
> 
> And I am LOVING your comments, they motivate me so much, so thanks for leaving them. ❤️❤️❤️❤️


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is trying his hardest to convince this scared little boy that he means him no harm, and the safest place in the world for him is in Wayne Manor.

Bruce was a terrible person.

He’d spent his entire adult life _dedicated_ to protecting the children of Gotham. Protecting every little child from the grief and terror he had felt, that horrible night some twenty years ago.

It was his _mission_ to make sure little boys could sleep soundly at night, and take comfort in the knowledge they were safe. They were protected.

And despite all that, he’d managed to mess up so royally that he’d convinced a little boy of the _exact opposite,_ and was likely stressing the boy out so much he was unable to eat or sleep.

That’s all Bruce could think about, as he sat in the living room that evening, trying to watch the evening news before patrol. Alfred had managed to calm Jason down enough to get him cleaned up. Bruce had hoped being clean and dry and warm would be a comfort to a little boy who had spent a month sleeping outside, but Alfred came out of Jason’s room _more_ furious with Bruce, not less. So Bruce figured Jason had found no comfort in it at all.

At least Jason _was_ safe, Bruce thought bitterly. Even if he did not _feel_ it.

Dick came skipping into the room, some twenty minutes into the news report. Bruce, unfortunately, had not been paying attention. But it didn’t particularly matter, either.

His big case at the moment was the foster care system. He needed to figure out how deep the corruption ran, and how tightly knit the agency was with the mobs of Gotham.

“Hey Bruce,” Dick said, as he vaulted himself over the couch to sit next to Bruce.

“Hey,” he grunted back, crossing his arms and staring at the TV. He _also_ hated how much distress the entire Jason-situation had caused Dick. He should have asked Dick if he was okay with another kid staying in the Manor, no matter how brief or long the stay would be.

 _He should have also asked Jason,_ his brain reminded him. Not that he was convinced high-strung Jason would have _consented_ to being handed off to Bruce Wayne. Wherever Batman put the scared child, it was going to be through force.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Dick said, after he’d let Bruce simmer in silence for several minutes.

Bruce just sighed. Because he knew Dick was about to make him _talk._

“About what?”

Dick smiled up at him, his own arms crossed as he sat next to Bruce. “You aren’t a terrible person.”

It was uncanny, how well Dick could read his thoughts, sometimes.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, anyway.

“Because I know you’re thinking it right now, and you gotta stop, cause it’s not true.”

Oh, but it was.

“There is a little boy upstairs _convinced_ I’m going to come into his room tonight,” Bruce challenged. Good people did _not_ make nine-year-olds think that.

 _Good people_ helped traumatized children feel safe and secure.

“Yeah,” Dick said, like it weren’t as big of a deal as it was, “but you _aren’t,_ so I’m still right. Not a terrible person.”

“God, I screwed this up,” Bruce said, reaching up to rub at his face.

“Yes,” Dick said, shifting so he was sitting closer to Bruce, within inches of him, “You did.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Telling him you’re Batman might help,” Dick ventured, clearly unsure about how Bruce would take the suggestion.

They’d argued dozens of times about when it was appropriate to share their secret identities.

Bruce _might_ have actually agreed with Dick on this point, for once, but, “He thinks Batman kidnapped him, brought him to an evil doctor to sedate him, and then sold him to Bruce Wayne as a plaything. It’s not going to help.”

Jason was likely _never_ going to trust Batman _or_ Bruce again, for as long as he lived.

“Well not with that attitude,” Dick said, grinning wide. His smile faltered, however, when his joke failed to make Bruce laugh.

All Bruce could do was sigh again.

“Just, you know,” Dick said, scooting over the final couple inches to rest his head against Bruce’s arm, “Keep not hurting him. He’ll come around.”

“You think?” Bruce asked, because ‘not hurting him’ was really the only option Bruce _saw_ ahead of him. Every single act of kindness was going to be perceived as ‘brainwashing’ him, to Jason. Bruce wasn’t sure there was a single thing he _could_ do to win Jason’s trust, at that point.

Except, perhaps. ‘Keep not hurting him.’

“Yeah,” Dick said, “He’s nine. He’s just _really_ scared.”

Bruce needed to figure out a way to relieve that fear.

\- - -

The next day, Jason refused to come down for breakfast.

Alfred had sent Dick up to retrieve Jason, but according to Dick, Jason had said a string of explicatives and refused to come out of the room.

“He likely did not sleep last night,” Alfred said, his disapproving eyes boring into Bruce’s _soul,_ “We should respect his boundaries and allow him the morning to recover.”

So that was exactly what they did.

But when Jason refused to come down for lunch, too, Bruce decided he had to do _something._

“Jason,” he said, when he gently knocked on the boy’s door.

He’d prepared a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so far the _only_ sandwich he made Dick did not complain about. He wasn’t sure how, but he managed to mess every other sandwich up, but spreading simple peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread was a basic enough task even Bruce could do it.

At least, that’s what Dick had told him.

Dick was such a little shit, sometimes.

“I brought you lunch.”

“I’m not hungry,” Jason grumbled, from just inside the room. If Bruce had to guess, he was curled up in one of the armchairs again, right where he’d been the night before when Bruce last saw him. He hoped Jason had at least _tried_ to sleep in the bed.

And the mere idea Jason could be ‘not hungry’ was ridiculous. If he truly _wasn’t_ hungry, his malnutrition was much worse than Leslie had led on.

“I know that’s not true,” he said, trying to make his voice be as gentle as possible.

“It _is_ true,” Jason shot back, and even though Bruce couldn’t see him, he could just _hear_ the scowl on his face.

Was it a good thing the boy had flipped back to angry? Angry was much less painful to witness than the silent tears from a child too distraught to speak.

“Son,” Bruce sighed, closing his eyes as he ran a hand down his face, “You have to eat.”

“I’m not your son,” Jason snapped.

He was right. That was not what Bruce meant.

“I’m sorry,” he said anyway, instead of explaining how it was just a nickname he usually called Dick, “ _Jason,_ you have to eat.”

“ _You can’t make me._ ”

Bruce decided it was _definitely_ a good thing Jason had flipped to angry. It meant he felt _safe_ in that room. Safe enough to yell at Bruce.

Now what could they do to make him feel safe enough to come _out_ of the room?

Sighing again, Bruce leant down and placed the plate of sandwich and chips on the ground in front of Jason’s door, then he sat down, his back against the wall next to the door, and asked, “What can I do to make this better?”

“Let me go,” Jason said, and even Bruce could tell Jason did not expect that wish to be granted.

“Let you go where?” he asked, fully knowing what Jason meant. As much as Bruce _wished_ he could, if only for Jason’s peace of mind, they _couldn’t_ ‘let him go.’

The mob ran so deep.

So. Fucking. Deep.

Letting Jason go. Setting him back out on the streets would only result in his kidnapping. Again.

And turning Jason over to the authorities would merely result in his disappearance.

Until Bruce could figure _that_ out, he could not let the boy leave.

How did one convince a child he was being held hostage for his own good?

“ _Anywhere,”_ Jason seethed, “I don’t care. Somewhere a creepy pedo won’t _buy me.”_

“I didn’t buy you,” Bruce said tiredly, for what had to be the sixteenth time, “And I’m not a pedophile.”

“Then let me go,” Jason said, this time his voice a touch pleading.

Bruce did not want to set off the waterworks again.

“Jason,” he said, then sighed. Because there was no way to put it without upsetting the boy. “We can’t let you back out on the streets. You didn’t want to go to the police or foster care. That’s why you’re _here.”_

“Because here’s fucking _better,”_ Jason cried.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” he said, although it had likely been unavoidable.

Bruce just wanted one conversation with the boy that did not result in him crying.

“I _promise_ you’re safe here, and no one wants to or is going to hurt you. I’m going to leave this sandwich outside your door, please try to eat a little bit.”

Jason did not respond, so Bruce stood and slowly made his way downstairs, sure to make his footsteps loud enough Jason could hear him leave.

When he went back upstairs a few hours later, the sandwich hadn’t been touched.

\- - -

“Maybe we should get him a gameboy,” Dick said, from where he was playing his own gameboy, leaning sideways against Bruce’s arm as he played.

Bruce had been trying to ignore Dick, in favor of doing some work for Lucius on his laptop, but Dick didn’t often sit quietly.

“He won’t take well to an expensive gift,” Bruce mumbled, because if Jason had freaked out over the notion of old puzzles and books, there was _no way_ he’d accept a several hundred dollar gaming system.

“But he’s so lonely in there,” Dick whined, “If we got him a gameboy, he could play with me and Wally without leaving his room. We’re racing on Mario Kart right now.”

“He’s got a broken arm, chum,” Bruce reminded. It would be several more weeks before Jason could make use of his left hand again. “Why don’t you offer to play with him in person? He might appreciate a game of connect four, or something.”

“I tried, he told me to fuck off.”

Bruce sighed.

Jason Todd was making him sigh a lot, lately.

“Please don’t start talking like him. Alfred will kill me.”

“Alfred’s already gonna kill you, I’m pretty sure.”

Bruce was getting that impression, too. He had a feeling if he didn’t figure out how to get Jason out of his room, soon, Alfred would banish him from the Manor entirely, just to give Jason more safe space.

He wasn’t even sure if he’d be opposed to that.

\- - -

“There is absolutely no way I can turn him over to social services,” Bruce said, three days later, when Alfred was lobbying for Jason to be moved somewhere _else._ Again.

Jason had skipped every single meal Bruce had been home for. At least when Bruce was not home, Jason did venture out of his bedroom, and had joined Dick for lunch earlier that day.

That was not, Alfred argued, a healthy way for a child to be living.

Bruce understood the argument. He _wanted_ Jason to feel safe and secure in his own home, as well, but Bruce had finally made some sense of Jason’s paperwork.

And it did not paint a pretty picture.

“Please enlighten me on how this house is the _only_ safe house in all of Gotham,” Alfred said, crossing his arms.

“It’s not about whether other foster homes are safe. It’s about the social workers and police involved. Jason was never even put through the true _process_ of becoming a ward of the state. They skipped all the steps and jumped straight to a permanent placement with someone with no connections to the foster care system _at all.”_

There were no background checks. No site visits. No home studies. _Nothing._

Bruce had gone through a lot of shit to get Dick placed with him, and it seemed this person had skipped everything.

At first, Bruce assumed the person who took custody had been part of the same mob that his social workers were in on, but further digging revealed that was not the case at all.

Maroni’s men were vile people, but they did not often dabble in human trafficking.

The Ibanescu Crime Family, however?

It made Bruce sick to think about what they wanted with Jason.

No wonder a child of nine had jumped to all the conclusions he had, upon waking up in Bruce Wayne’s house.

This was a well-trodden path for the boy.

“You are afraid that will happen again,” Alfred said, and Bruce nodded.

“The mob runs deep, Alfred, and I cannot protect him from afar.”

The mob, also, did not take kindly to what they considered ‘theirs’ walking off. Those men that had been abducting Jason, when Batman intervened?

They knew exactly who Jason was, and exactly from whom he’d escaped.

Alfred nodded somberly, then straightened himself as he stood. “Then you go tell that boy the truth,” he said, pointing upstairs, “He deserves to know why you have stripped him of his agency.”

That was easier said than done.

-

“Jason,” Bruce said, knocking on Jason’s door a few hours later, after Jason had skipped dinner. _Again._

At least Jason was eating food Alfred brought him. Smoothies and sandwiches. Snacks and juice. Jason was not starving to death, and Bruce tried to take some comfort in that.

“Jason,” he repeated, when he got no response, “Can we talk?”

There was a squeal of furniture against the floor, and the sound of hundreds of puzzle pieces toppling to the ground, before Jason finally mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I _said,”_ Jason exasperated, as Bruce heard said puzzle pieces get moved around, each one scraping against the wood floor as Jason angrily threw them back into the box they’d escaped, “Do I have a choice?”

Not really, Bruce supposed. Jason didn’t have to talk _back,_ but it was important he at least _listened._

“We’ve been digging into your case,” Bruce began, but Jason but in before he could continue.

“What case?”

“Like, your state files and your _case,_ with social services,” Bruce said. Jason’s lack of knowledge on what a ‘case’ even was _proved_ Jason had never truly been placed into foster care. Had never been through the process.

Even Dick could have explained everything about his ‘care team’ and ‘permanency plan,’ back when he was nine-years-old and mere weeks from his own parents’ deaths.

“That was all just a _front,”_ Jason snapped, the sound of his puzzle pieces being scattered all over happening again. This time, likely caused by Jason kicking the box.

“Yeah,” he agreed, as he lowered himself to the ground outside Jason’s door, so he could put his back against it, “That’s the picture I’m getting, too.”

“I’m not going _back.”_

 _“_ Oh, kiddo,” he said, almost in an exhale, “I would _never_ make you go back. You are _here_ so I can protect you from _that.”_ Bruce would sooner rip out his own heart that allow Jason to be harmed. Allow a single hair on his head be touched by _anyone_ with ill intentions.

Jason grumbled something that _almost_ sounded like mimicking Bruce, then said, louder, “I don’t believe you.”

“I know,” Bruce said, smiling a little fondly at the little boy that was _finally_ starting the shine through. Doing puzzles. Mocking people. Back talking.

It was nice.

“That’s okay,” Bruce added, “it’s still true.”

“Fuck you.”

His language, however, was not nice.

“Batman is working on your case, though,” Bruce said, circling back to the topic at hand when the silence stretched on long enough, “He’s going to bring to justice every last person who was involved in trafficking you to the Ibanescu's.”

“Really?” Jason asked, his voice somewhere between disbelief and… excitement.

_Excitement._

“Yeah.”

“But,” Jason said, then paused. Took a second to collect his thoughts. “But he trafficked me to _you.”_

“He didn’t,” Bruce said, like he would keep saying, every time the accusation came from Jason’s mouth, “I didn’t pay a dime for you. You are a _child,_ I would never _purchase_ a _child._ I offered to give you a safe place to stay, so Batman didn’t have to get cops or social workers involved, like you asked.”

“I asked him to let me go,” Jason shot back, “I told him he wasn’t allowed to find me a home.”

“Letting you go back out onto the street with a broken arm while starving to death was never an option.”

When Jason merely pouted, sure to grunt loud enough Bruce could hear him, Bruce added, “I know you _feel_ safer there because there’s no adult with control over you, and adults are scary, but it _wasn’t_ safe.”

“And you want me to think _you’re_ safe,” Jason spat, his anger starting to shift more toward the familiar anguish Bruce hated hearing, “so I’ll start coming out of my room more so you can— you can—“

“No,” Bruce asserted, “No, I just want you to _be_ safe.”

All that progress, Bruce thought. All that progress he thought they’d been making.

It was all a lie.

Because the next thing Jason said was, “I’ve never been safe,” and Bruce didn’t know what to do.

So all he did was sit there, trying to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes.

\- - -

Another two days passed, and Jason refused to leave his room, even for Alfred.

Jason would need to get his arm x-rayed sometime soon, and at that rate, it’d take another ten years to convince Jason to do so much as step out into the hall.

Bruce tried talking to Jason several more times. And several more times the conversation had ended with Jason in tears, and Bruce hating himself.

No matter what he said, Jason was _convinced_ he was being brainwashed, and no matter what the suggestion was. What the promise made. Jason ‘wasn’t falling for’ any of it.

“What can I do?” Bruce pleaded, when Jason had started silently crying inside his room again, his occasional sniffles the only thing tipping him off, all because Bruce wanted him to try very hard to come down for lunch. Bruce had even offered to _leave the house,_ just to help Jason feel safer, but it hadn’t been enough. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”

It took several minutes for Jason to say anything, and when he did, Bruce wasn’t sure if it was in direct respond to his question, or just a childish plea for happier times.

“I want my— my mom,” he sobbed, from where he was sitting, just inside the bedroom door.

Bruce was mere feet from him. _Feet._ And yet Jason might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy, for how reachable he was.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, “I wish I could grant you that wish.” After hesitating a moment, he added, “I know how it feels.”

“How,” Jason cried, “How would you know?”

“I lost my parents when I was eight, too.”

“I’m _nine,”_ Jason snapped, sniffling loudly as his sobs started to ebb.

“Yes, I know,” Bruce said, staring at his hands, which were resting on his knees. Jason was only nine, and he’d already experienced too many horrors. “Dick was nine when his parents died, too.”

“What?” Jason said dryly, “Are you trying to start a club?”

Bruce ignored the jibe, and asked, “Your life has been turned upside down since she died, hasn’t it?”

“No. I _like_ getting kidnapped every other week.”

“She only died a couple months ago, didn’t she?” he asked.

The hell this boy’s summer had been.

To think, he was going to return to school in a couple months. Or… likely start at a new school.

Show up at school, first day of fifth grade, be surrounded by little children who had gone to Disney World. Disney World, or Europe, or Colorado, or simply _the pool_ over summer.

All the things children should spend their summers doing. And Jason would be sitting there, still dealing with the demons of hell to which he’d been introduced. Still handing the death of his only parent— only, not jailed, parent. Still working through the trauma of being kidnapped. Of being trafficked. Of being homeless.

Bruce couldn’t imagine the shit Jason had gone through, and it all occurred in span of two short months.

“Yeah,” Jason whispered, his sniffling also starting to wane, “But she was gone for a long time before that.”

Addiction was one hell of a disease, Bruce supposed.

“Do you want to go visit her grave?” he asked, suddenly wondering if the boy had _ever_ been to his mother’s grave.

Considering it was the very police who responded to his 911 call for help responsible for trafficking him in the first place, it was very likely the last time Jason saw her was when he discovered her unresponsive body in their kitchen.

Oh, god. The poor boy likely hadn’t even attended her _funeral._

“What?” Jason whispered, almost too quietly for Bruce to hear through the door between them.

“Bring her flowers, or something,” he elaborated, “I don’t know. I used to visit my parents’ grave a lot when I was little. I still do, sometimes.”

Jason’s words stuttered, for a moment, before he finally managed to say, “You’d take me _out?_ Into Gotham?”

Bruce would take him anywhere in the world, if it would make him feel better.

“Yeah, if you want.”

“Aren’t you,” Jason started, then paused, as if debating with himself whether he should continued speaking. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll start screaming about how you kidnapped me?”

“Are you going to scream about that?”

He honestly hadn’t considered the possibility, but he probably should have.

It was also likely Jason would try to run, if Bruce let him out of his reach.

“Maybe,” Jason said uneasily, and Bruce just sighed, wringing his hands together.

That might have to be a risk he took.

“Well. I hope you don’t.”

Telling the boy _not to_ would sound too much like a threat.

“You’ll still take me?”

“Yeah.”

“When?” Jason asked, and if Bruce really listened, he thought he heard a touch of that excitement return.

He needed to encourage that.

“Do you want to go right now?”

Bruce’s breath shuddered when, after several seconds of silence, the lock on Jason’s door clicked.

When the door slowly opened, Bruce looked over and up from where he was sitting right next to Jason’s door, and took in the sight of the little boy he hadn’t seen in days.

The terrified little boy, who was holding his casted arm close and chewing on his lip.

“You’re for real?” Jason asked, a little shakily, as he stood a mere three feet from Bruce, staring down at him.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, nodding slowly. Trying his best not to make a single move that could be perceived as threatening.

Jason’s lip wobbled, and his eyes filled with tears again, but he took a deep breath and said, forcefully, “Don’t touch me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, kiddo. I promise.”

\- - -

The trip was tense.

Jason didn’t cry, but Bruce could tell it was a close thing.

He’d first retrieved a sling for Jason to wear, and kicked himself for not doing that sooner. The boy had been in the cast for a _week,_ and he hadn’t had a sling that entire time to help support the weight of the cast.

Bruce had to help him put the sling on, since the boy had never worn one, and was unable to adjust it to the right size himself. He could have called Alfred, Bruce supposed, but he _also_ wanted to prove to Jason he would _not_ take advantage of him, no matter how many opportunities he got.

It still broke his heart how Jason held his breath and screwed his eyes shut, when Bruce had to touch his shoulder in order to untwist the strap for him.

“It’s okay,” Bruce had whispered, once he finished adjusting the sling and took a few steps back, “You’re okay, chum.”

“Let’s just go see my mom,” Jason said, sniffling a little but not outright crying.

The drive took 45 minutes. Jason sat in the back, staring out the window the entire time. It was tense, it was awkward, and the easy listening radio station Bruce had playing did not help, one bit.

But Jason still hadn’t started crying, despite still clearly being _terrified_ of Bruce.

Bruce was trying his damndest not to break the very tiny sliver of trust Jason had put in him.

Catherine Todd was buried in the largest cemetery in Gotham. It was located near the center of the city, and doubled as a park for people to walk their dogs or ride their bikes.

Outside the cemetery’s main gates, there was always a flower cart, offering all sorts of beautiful arrangements for grievers and visitors, so Bruce made sure to park near the main gate so they could purchase some flowers first.

They walked in silence, Jason keeping as much distance from Bruce as he could, while still walking beside him on the sidewalk. In reality, the distance was not much, and Bruce could still reach him, if he simply held out his arm.

So he did not.

He placed his hands in his pockets, and avoided looking directly at the boy as they walked.

At the flower cart, Bruce waited to see if Jason would pick something out, but when Jason only stared blankly at all the options, Bruce silently purchased one of the larger arrangements, with as many different flowers in it as possible.

When he offered the bouquet to Jason, however, Jason reached in and pulled out a single daisy, and brought the flower to his nose. He closed his eyes, and his lips twitched ever so slightly, as he took in the scent of the flower.

Whatever Jason was thinking about, Bruce did not inquire.

Bruce led Jason through the maze of graves, over to where the newer burials were done. He’d already known where Catherine Todd was buried, even before he suggested their impromptu trip, so it wasn’t difficult at all to find her stone.

Jason walked the remaining fifteen yards alone, as Bruce found a bench to sit at, so he could hang back and give Jason privacy.

They spent over an hour there. Jason sat in front of his mother’s tombstone, and whether he spoke, Bruce did not know. He did see Jason wipe his face enough times he knew Jason was at least letting _something_ out.

But when Jason was finally done, he gently set the flower down in front of the stone, then pat the top of it before rising to his feet. Jason hesitated, there, for a tense moment, before he slowly turned toward Bruce and started making his way back.

And Bruce tried not to show his surprise.

Because Bruce had honestly expected Jason to attempt to run off. To use this as his chance to ‘escape.’

But instead, Jason walked over to where Bruce was sitting, and blankly looked in his direction, just waiting for Bruce to do something.

So he did. He stood and asked, “Want to get some lunch?”

Jason took a deep breath, then nodded once, following Bruce out of the cemetery.

As they were leaving, Bruce found an elderly woman to pass the rest of their flowers to. Jason had only given Catherine the one daisy, and Bruce thought it’d be a shame for the rest of the flowers to go to waste.

The woman smiled brightly, and said, “Oh, thank you, young man,” as she took the bouquet, and Bruce figured she’d put them to good use.

And after they’d walked a few blocks, headed toward a little deli Bruce knew, Jason finally looked up at Bruce. _At_ him. Not through him, Or in his direction, but into his eyes.

He looked more calm in that moment than he had been all week. Than he had been since the moment Bruce met him.

It wasn’t happy. It wasn’t even content. But it wasn’t on the verge of tears or nausea, so Bruce offered him a small, sad smile in return.

Jason stared, then turned his attention back forward, and they kept walking.

Bruce knew there was still a _very_ long road ahead of them. Really, if the distance between them was that of the Grand Canyon, Jason had barely taken half a step onto the trailhead, but he _had taken that step._

That was better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's actually not a super terrible conclusion for the story, but don't worry, it's not the conclusion. LOL 
> 
> I don't think I'll write the lunch scene, but Jason actually picks something off the menu, and then eats it. He's super quiet. He's reserved. He doesn't make eye contact with Bruce again, but he slowly eats his entire sandwich, and then gets back into the car with Bruce and goes home. 😢 Whether that's because he's starting to believe Bruce, or because they were in public and he knew he was safe, dunno! Guess we'll find out as the story keeps progressing. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the encouragement for this story. I don't think I'd be able to keep up with this pace without y'alls awesome comments. (This is like, really fast for me. I usually struggle to get one or two chapters done a WEEK. And my chapters are usually 3k words, not 4.5k!) So thank you guys. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Bruce come home from the cemetery, and Dick ropes Jason into playing Connect 4, even though Jason kind of wants to just go back to his room and mope.

Jason couldn’t play this game.

The game of them being nice, and him falling for it, and then them turning on him. 

Bruce got Dick when he was nine, too. Now he was fourteen. Maybe that’s why Jason was there, now. Dick was growing up. 

It would make sense. Jason did _not_ miss the fact he and Dick looked _a lot_ alike. They could pass for brothers, that’s how similar they were. It made Jason a little sick to think about. 

He focused on not being sick. At least, not while he was in Bruce’s car. 

One thing he didn’t understand was how Dick got to go to school. Bruce had to be _really_ good at brainwashing, if he’d convinced Dick everything was great and happy and good. Dick even acted like Bruce was his dad, even though he _said_ he wasn’t. He even loved Bruce, which just… made Jason want to be sick even more. 

Was Bruce going to convince _Jason_ like that?

He could already see how they were going to get him. 

They were being so _nice._ They let him stay in his room all week, barely coming out. Alfred kept bringing him food, too. That was the one way they’d be able to get him out, starve him out. But Alfred kept bringing him food. Bruce had tried, that one time, but when Jason refused to eat it they’d switched to Alfred bringing the food. 

Then… then Bruce offered to take Jason _out._

_Outside._

To go see his mother. 

He couldn’t… he couldn’t say no to that. He wanted to say goodbye to her, and it might have been his only chance to do so. 

And then Bruce had been so nice the entire time. He didn’t follow Jason to Mom’s grave. He stayed _way_ far away. He didn’t touch Jason, except when he had to help with the sling, but otherwise he stayed far away and left Jason alone. 

They even went to a restaurant and he let Jason pick something off the menu. Jason hadn’t wanted to pick, but at the same time he wasn't sure he’d _ever_ get to eat at a restaurant again. And the food had been good, and Bruce didn’t try to talk with him, just let him eat in silence. 

Bruce was even nice to other people. He didn’t flaunt his money like lots of rich people did. He spoke kindly and said ‘thank you’ to the waitress and flower guy and when Jason looked he couldn’t find any mean in his eyes. Bad people _always_ had mean in their eyes. How did Bruce _do_ that?

He _didn’t want_ to play this game.

“Bruce, Jason,” Dick exclaimed, when Bruce led Jason back through Wayne Manor to the kitchen, from the garages. Dick was sitting at the island, across from Alfred, and there was a tea set out on the counter. 

Apparently they were having a tea party. 

Weird.

Jason stayed paused in the doorway, debating what he should do next. Bruce specifically led him there, but did that mean he had to stay? He could bolt for his room, and maybe even make it before anyone caught him. 

He wanted to snort at himself, because yeah _right_ could he run down the hall, turn right, run up the stairs, and then down _another_ hall and make it to his room before Bruce or maybe even Dick caught him. He was little and they were not.

“Can I get into the kitchen, please,” Bruce said, from right behind him. Jason jumped, and looked back, to see Bruce standing there, one had held flat, like he wanted to move Jason out of his way, but had stopped himself from doing so. 

“Sorry, lad,” Bruce said, moving his hand quickly with an awkward laugh, “I just want to get something to drink.” 

Jason took a few steps to the side, so that he was standing in the kitchen and out of the doorway, and Bruce slid past him, off to the fridge as promised. 

“Would you like something, Master Jason,” Alfred asked, “I’d be happy to prepare you some lunch, if you are hungry.” 

“We ate at Connie’s,” Bruce said, but then Alfred glared at him, so Bruce held a hand up and went back to pouring himself a glass of juice. 

When Alfred looked back at Jason expectantly, Jason just shook his head. He wasn’t hungry. Or thirsty. And he didn’t particularly want to stay in the kitchen with all of them. 

“Where did you guys go?” Dick asked, a second later, looking between Jason and Bruce. 

Jason refused to answer, so Bruce said, “Gotham Cemetery.” 

Dick’s face fell, a little. Did he think they went somewhere _fun. ‘_ Oh yes, I brought the kid I just kidnapped the other day to the _trampoline park.’_ “Oh,” Dick said, then offered Jason a small smile, “Did you have a good visit?”

Yeah, Jason thought, he did. So he nodded. 

“Do you maybe want to play a game with me?” Dick asked, and the little spark of hope in his stupid eyes made Jason feel _bad._ Dick probably got pretty lonely, being the only kid here for five years. 

But Jason didn’t really want to play a game with Dick. He didn’t want to not be in his room at all. He’d spent a few hours with Bruce, now, and he was happy it hadn’t been bad, but also he didn’t want to keep pushing his luck.

“I’ll be in my study, if anyone needs me,” Bruce said, grabbing his glass and slipping out of the room. He didn’t even look at Jason, as he did, and rushed off, leaving Jason alone with Alfred and Dick. 

His shoulders still didn’t drop. 

Even without Bruce there, Jason didn’t particularly want to play with Dick, or spend much more time outside his room, but also… he was _so bored._

He’d done all the puzzles, even though he didn’t like puzzles. He read the book Alfred gave him _three times._ Maybe he should ask Alfred for the sequel, or something. Or… go into the library himself… and find a new book. 

That… No. He couldn’t do that. 

They’d given him a stack of games, for his room, too. He tried to play them, but most of them needed two people and playing monopoly by himself was worse than sitting in the chair and staring out the window. The memory game was okay, but after a couple rounds it was way too easy. When he’d looked at the cover, he realized it was meant for kids 3 to 6, and then he wondered why they thought he’d like it at all. 

He was _nine._ And _not stupid._

“We can play out on the patio, if you want,” Dick added, bouncing a little in his seat, “It’s super nice outside today, kinda awful being cooped up in the house on days like today.” 

It was nice outside… and he didn’t want to be cooped up in his room when he could see how pretty it was outside. He just didn’t know they could go outside. Looking over at Alfred, he saw Alfred pointedly not looking at either of them as he looked at something on his phone. An article, of some sort. A huge block of text. If Alfred wasn’t speaking up and saying they shouldn’t go outside, then it must have been okay… 

And, if he went back to his room, he wouldn’t even be able to open the windows. Even with the stoppers out, the windows did not open for him. He had no idea how the locks knew, since they seemed to open _fine_ for everyone else, but for Jason they refused to budge. 

That made sense, though. Why would they let him lock himself in a room if it were so easy to just open the windows and climb out? 

With a deep breath, Jason finally nodded at Dick. Bruce had run off, _and_ it was still day, so maybe it would be okay. 

Dick grinned widely, and jumped down off the stool he’d been sitting on. “Come on,” he cheered, skipping out of the kitchen and down the hall. Jason followed numbly, and tried not to think about how lonely Dick had to be to be so excited Jason had finally agreed to play. 

“What games do you like?” Dick asked, when they were standing outside the same game closet from the first day. There were several new games in there, and Jason wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact they’d bought _more games._ Clearly they were expecting Jason and Dick to eventually play together. That almost made him go back to his room, just so he could do the opposite of what they wanted. 

But outside… 

Jason shrugged, and looked away, off down the hall. It didn’t matter what game they played. He didn’t care. 

“How about Battleship, have you ever played that?” 

No. Jason shook his head. 

“You don’t feel like talking much, do you?” Dick observed, staring intently until Jason finally shrugged again. 

He was… tired. And talking took so much energy. 

“Okay, that’s fine,” Dick said, putting Battleship back in the closet. He looked around for a second, then pulled out Checkers, Scrabble, and Connect 4, “here’s some options. If you don’t like any of them we can always come back and find something else. There’s also all sorts of card games in the living room.” 

_Great._

The patio ended up being basically inside. It was a screened in patio, and there was still a door between Jason and outside, even if it and all the walls were just screens. He should have known it was too good to be true. 

“We can sit in here,” Dick said, when he looked over at Jason and frowned, “Or we can go sit down in the garden. The bugs can’t get us in here, but out there is in the sun, so.” 

So they _could_ go outside?

“Garden it is,” Dick said, even though Jason hadn’t said anything. He went and opened the screen door, which proved to not even be locked. Jason wasn’t sure if had to _ability_ to be locked upon closer inspection. 

It felt weird, being outside. When he went to the cemetery, he knew it wasn’t _really_ out. Because Bruce was _right there._ And could easily just grab him and throw him back in the car if he tried anything. 

People probably wouldn’t even do anything, if Bruce picked him up and said something like “Now, son, I know you don’t want to go, but Mom’s waiting for us.” _Everyone_ would think Jason’s just being a brat. 

Now, though. There he was. Standing outside. _Outside,_ outside, with no adults anywhere in sight. 

Did Bruce trust Dick to not let Jason run off? Is that what that was all about? Dick was such a good little puppy for Bruce, he’d help keep Jason prisoner, even while they pretended to give him freedom?

Or maybe they knew there was no way off the property. There was that huge gate Bruce had to open, just to leave the driveway. Maybe that was electric, or something. It’s not like he could climb it with his broken arm, anyway. 

Well, he _could._ But not in his stupid cast. And he didn’t have any tools to free himself from the cast, only the dumb little scissors Alfred had given him. The blades on them weren’t even a centimeter long, or particularly strong. They were _useless._ Only good for cutting himself out of the bag he had to wrap around the cast. 

Dick set the game boxes down on a table, right in the middle of a bunch of flower bushes, so Jason sat down. There was no use in trying to escape, anyway. Not yet. They had to know he wasn’t brainwashed yet, so he highly doubted there was a real option to run, now. Not when they were _giving_ him these options. It was all probably a trick to see what he tried. 

In his ‘foster home,’ it had taken him 24 days to finally find a real escape route. The idiot lady who cooked them food had opened the kitchen window, to let out smoke when she spilled some oil on the stovetop. When she went to get a wet towel to put out the small little fire, Jason had kicked the screen out and run. He would probably have to wait for one of them to slip up like that, here, too. 

They started with Connect 4, which usually ended in a tie after Jason figured out the point of the stupid game during their first round. After they’d filled the board up four times in a row, without either of them winning, Dick put the game away and pulled out checkers. 

Dick talked his ear off the entire time. “Bruce and I used to play checkers all the time, when I was your age,” he’d said, which just made Jason clench his teeth. He didn’t _care_ what nice things Bruce did. “But then he taught me how to play chess, and now that’s usually what we play. Alfred likes chess, too.” 

Great. Jason didn’t care. 

But Dick seemed to genuinely happy to be talking to him, even though Jason hadn’t said anything in response… and… he felt bad. For being mean to Dick. Because none of this was Dick’s fault. He was just a kid, _too._

Although _Dick went to school._ So Dick _had_ friends, right? There were people outside the house that knew him? And talked to him? So… he couldn’t be _too_ lonely. 

Jason _still_ could not puzzle that one out. He’d never heard of kidnappers letting kids they took go to school. On the news kidnappings _always_ ended in finding the kid’s body. Or, very very rarely, the kid all grown up, held captive somewhere for their whole life. _Not,_ going to school, living a ‘normal’ life. 

Did that mean Dick was gonna finish growing up? Even though Bruce had got a new, younger kid now? He was going to finish going to school, grow up, and _have a life?_

Would… Bruce let Jason… 

But then _Alfred._

Alfred had _said_ he’d kill Bruce. _Shoot him,_ if he so much as touched Jason. And he hadn’t been lying, either. His face had been so serious, and his eyes so determined. Jason assumed he _had_ to be lying, because _Dick was right there._ But… Alfred yelled at Bruce. And told him what to do. And shot him nasty glares, like parents do, and Bruce _listened._ Like he was scared Alfred would smack him, or something. 

Plus, Alfred had made the room _safe._

How did having a safe spot work into their plan? It made no sense. Sure, it didn’t change the fact he was being held _prisoner._ Just because he could keep people from entering his jail cell didn’t mean much. It was still a jail cell. 

But why would Bruce buy him if he was gonna let Jason just hole up in his room forever? And then not do anything when Jason finally came out? He was pretty sure kids cost _lots_ of money, so it made no sense to pay all that and then… not do anything. 

_Nothing_ made sense, and Jason _hated_ it. 

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, after he finished cleaning up checkers and was starting to set up Scrabble, “If you don’t want to play Scrabble we can do something else. There’s a tire swing down the hill. And a trampoline over by the pool. Although if you hurt your arm more, Bruce is not going to be happy with me.” 

Jason’s stomach flipped a little. He didn’t particularly _want_ to go play, anyway, but he _definitely_ didn’t want to get Dick in trouble with Bruce. What would that even entail? 

“I just mean,” Dick said quickly, apparently knowing exactly what Jason was thinking, “He’ll be all like “Richard, you should be more careful,” and give me his disappointed glare, and then Alfred would probably not let me bring you outside to play again—-I mean—like, wouldn’t let me take you to the trampoline or whatever, again and—“ 

“It’s fine,” Jason mumbled, wanting Dick to _shut up,_ “I won’t get you in trouble.” 

“It’s really okay if you do,” Dick said, “I mean, I’d rather _not_ be in trouble with Alfred, but nothing bad will happen.” 

He highly doubted that. 

Was kind of weird how _Alfred_ would be the one to punish them, though. If taking away outside privileges counted as punishment. It probably did. Jason could definitely see how easy it would be to make him behave if it meant he was allowed outside. Maybe they threatened Dick with taking him out of school, too. 

_That_ would explain why he was allowed at school. 

But… 

It still didn’t explain why _Bruce_ was afraid of _Alfred_ and _Alfred_ said he would shoot Bruce for hurting him. 

And _Alfred_ being the real bad guy made _no_ sense. Because he was the _butler._ Bruce Wayne _paid him_ to be there. And Bruce was the one who bought him.

This whole stupid house made _no sense._

“Really,” Dick said, “Alfred’s the best. He’d never do anything bad.” 

Jason did _not_ miss how Dick said _nothing_ about how Bruce was. 

_But Alfred said…_

“Would he really shoot Bruce?” Jason heard himself asking, before he could stop his stupid mouth from voicing that question. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know. 

Dick startled, then looked at Jason questioningly, like he’d never even _considered_ whether Alfred would. Which meant Alfred never made that promise to Dick. 

“I mean,” Dick stammered, after a few seconds, “He’s not super happy with Bruce right now, but I don’t think he’s going to shoot him.” 

“No, I meant if Bruce…” he started, but then trailed off. Maybe he shouldn’t even ask. Because if Dick really _was_ just Bruce’s first victim, then he’d probably just laugh. 

Or feel hurt Alfred had promised Jason that but not him.

But… Dick would _know._

Either Bruce hurt him, and Alfred did nothing, or Bruce _didn’t._ And _that’s_ why Alfred never made that promise to him. 

“…if Bruce came into your room at night?” Dick finished, gently, talking to Jason like he were a little baby about to start crying. 

Fuck. He might. 

Jason nodded numbly, and wrapped his good arm around his broken one. Held his cast close to him. He didn’t want to know. 

_He wanted the suspense of not knowing to end._

“Yeah,” Dick said, matter-of-factly, “Alfred would definitely shoot Bruce over that.” 

Oh. 

“You’re sure?” 

Dick wasn’t lying and helping them brainwash him, was he? Because, if he was, then he was really really _really_ good at it, too, because Jason was looking into his eyes and trying to find the lying in there, and there _wasn’t_ any. 

“Yeah. He gets mad when Bruce forgets to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ you think he’d stand by and let Bruce commit actual, horrible crimes like that?”

“Kidnapping children is a crime,” Jason snapped. And Bruce had done that _twice._

Nodding seriously, Dick said, “Yeah, and Alfred’s _really_ mad about how Bruce went about bringing you here. He should have asked you when you were awake, not just bring you home when you were asleep.” 

Like Jason would have said ‘ _yes, take me to some rich guy’s house, where he lives alone with another kid that looks just like me._ ’ 

“But in Bruce’s defense,” Dick continued, “he really _does_ want to keep you safe.” 

Ignoring that, Jason asked, “How’d you end up here?” Had _Dick_ consented to living with a rich dude _alone?_

Was he _stupid?_

What part of him _honestly_ thought this arrangement meant _safe._

Dick’s smile faltered, a little, and Jason’s stomach dropped. Because Dick was happy, and was Jason ruining all that? He _shouldn’t_ be happy about being kidnapped, but it was kind of shitty of Jason to go undo everything and make Dick think about bad things. 

“Bruce was there when my parents were murdered,” Dick said solemnly, “He saw his parents get murdered when he was little, too, and he thought he could help me. So he sat with me for a long time while the police did their thing, and then offered to let me stay here for the night.”

Oh.

“I ended up in an orphanage for a little while after that, but then Bruce got all the paperwork done and the state let me come live here permanently.”

_Oh._

Dick was living with Bruce _legally._

 _That’s_ why Dick had called him his ‘foster father.’ 

He _hadn’t_ been kidnapped. 

“And you _wanted_ to live with him?” Jason asked, a little incredulously. How _stupid_ was Dick Grayson? Agreeing to go live with a single rich dude alone in a mansion? Just because his parents were dead and he was an orphan didn’t mean he had to _willingly_ put himself in that situation. 

_Alfred said he would shoot Bruce,_ his brain reminded him. 

“Yeah,” Dick said, “I know you don’t believe it, because, well… But Bruce is _really_ nice. And living with him and Alfred is great.” 

Now Jason was just _more_ confused.

Why couldn’t Wayne Fucking Manor make _sense???_

“Ah, there you lads are,” Alfred said, making Jason jump so hard he had to grab the table, just to steady himself, “Forgive me, I did not mean to startle.”

“It’s fine,” Jason grumbled, mostly under his breath. Considering he wasn’t turned to look at Alfred, who was behind him, Alfred probably hadn’t heard him, anyway.

“We wanted to sit in the sun,” Dick said brightly, “and the roses are so pretty. I thought it was the perfect place to play board games.”

“It is a lovely spot,” Alfred said, as he placed a tray of drinks and cookies down on the table, “I brought you boys some lemonade and cookies.” 

Dick grinned widely and grabbed a cookie from the tray, then shoved half of it into his mouth. “Y’re th-besh,” he said, through the cookie in his mouth.

“Thank you, Master Dick,” Alfred said, as he moved the two empty saucers from the tray to in front of both Dick and Jason, “But please refrain from speaking with your mouth full.” 

After swallowing the bite, he said, “Sorry,” then turned to Jason, “These are his cranberry lemon cookies, Jason, you _have_ to try them, they’re _amazing.”_

Hesitantly, Jason reached out and picked a cookie from the larger plate, which Alfred had moved to be next to the Scrabble board, between him and Dick. The cookies _did_ look pretty good, with obvious cranberries inside them, and some white icing on top. He’d never had something as fancy sounding as cranberry lemon cookies. 

And when he took a bite of it, he had to admit, it _was_ really good. Dick had said Alfred made the best cookies, and so far Jason had to agree. 

Dick grinned widely, when Jason took a second bite, and Jason just rolled his eyes. Dick was ridiculous, with how easy it was to make him happy.

“I must say,” Alfred said, setting a hand on the seat back next to Jason, and leaning over just a touch, “It is good to see you outside, dear boy.” 

Jason still wasn’t sure if it _was_ good to be outside, but so far…

So far it’d been pretty nice. 

He wouldn’t be upset if it stayed that way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Jason's just thinking himself in circles right now. That's what it felt like to me, at least, when writing this chapter. But all the seeds are starting to be planted in his head, and hopefully over the next couple chapters he fully comes around. 😄
> 
> I have been REALLY tired the past day or two. It's ridiculous the number of hours I've spent sleeping over the last 24.... so idk if I'm just tired for no reason or if I'm losing steam from all this. Lmho. I've got work tomorrow through Thursday, though, so we'll see if I'm able to keep the pace up now. I'll try. I want to finish this story this week. 🤞
> 
> As always, thanks for your comments and encouragement <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason eats breakfast with the family, then he and Bruce have a very important conversation.

The next morning, Jason was startled awake by Dick knocking on his door, just like Dick did _every_ morning.

“Jay,” Dick called, “Breakfast is ready if you want to join us.” 

Rolling over on his back, Jason pulled his pillow up and covered his face with it. _Did_ he want to join them?

Not particularly, no. _But…._

Hot food was probably way better than the cold stuff Alfred always brought him, later. And _dinner_ the night before hadn’t been super bad. Bruce hadn’t even looked at him the whole time. Maybe Bruce would leave him alone again. 

_This is how they’re gonna get you._

With a deep breath, Jason pushed himself to a sitting position. Get him or not, he couldn’t spend eternity in his room. And maybe if he ate with them _sometimes_ they wouldn’t have to resort to starving him out, either. 

Plus, Dick would be there. And Dick was nice. 

Jason looked down at his clothes. He didn’t particularly want to go downstairs in his pajamas, but trying to dress himself was so hard, he almost did. Buttoning the button on his jeans was almost impossible, and even that was easier than pulling a shirt on and off, around his stupid cast. The sling was hard to put on, too, because the strap liked to twist up

But like _hell_ was he going to ask for help. He’d rather starve to death than do that. 

It took him about ten minutes to get changed, and once he did, all he wanted to do was go back to bed. But he didn’t. He unlocked his bedroom door and slowly made his way downstairs. 

“Jason,” Dick greeted, smiling wide, before Jason even made it fully to the dinning room, “Good morning!”

“Hi,” he grumbled, as he reached the threshold to the dining room. Stupid Dick Grayson and his stupid upbeat moods all the time. 

Jason froze, however, when Bruce looked up and smiled at him, too.

It felt like his heart stopped, for half a second, as his breath caught and his stomach did a flip. He didn’t _want_ Bruce to smile at him. He didn’t want Bruce to look at him _at all._

“Morning,” Bruce said, turning his attention back down to the newspaper in his hand, “It’s good to see you up.” 

Just because he’d got up didn’t mean he had to stay, right? If he turned and ran right then, he could make it to his room before Bruce caught him. He _could._ Bruce was distracted by his paper. 

Bruce wasn’t supposed to be paying him any attention. That was the pattern they’d had yesterday. Jason wanted him to stick to _that_ script and _leave him alone._

“Ah, Master Jason,” Alfred said, as he walked through the door connecting the kitchen to the dining room, “I’m so glad you chose to join us this morning. Please choose a seat, I will get you a drink. Milk or orange juice?”

Alfred was there, Jason thought, letting his breath out in a rush. Alfred was _right_ there. Alfred would shoot Bruce, probably. Maybe. Jason _really hoped._

Hesitantly, Jason took the last few steps toward the table and chose the seat next to Dick, on the other side of Bruce. Bruce could still look directly at him, because he was sitting at the head of the table, but he couldn’t _reach_ Jason, so at least there was that. 

“Do you have a preference,” Alfred asked again, causing Jason to look up at him. 

What did he want?

Oh, right. Milk or orange juice. 

Jason shook his head. He didn’t care, one way or the other. And it didn’t really matter, as long as it was cold and they let him drink it. 

“Is it okay if I go see my friends this weekend,” Dick asked, after Alfred left the room to retrieve Jason his drink, “I want to spend the night there.” 

Bruce looked up and scrutinized Dick, before he asked, “For the whole weekend?”

“Yeah, I haven’t stayed over in a while.”

That was cool, Bruce let Dick stay over at his friends house. Just made the whole Dick-Grayson-thing more confusing, but at least Dick _had_ friends like that. 

“You just went camping with them last week,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow at Dick. 

_“Yeah,”_ Dick said, throwing his arms out dramatically, _“_ but that was just one night.” 

Bruce just hummed, as he turned the page on his newspaper. An honest to God newspaper. What was Bruce, 100? Jason thought he was supposed to be 28, or something. 

“ _Please,_ Bruce,” Dick whined, which made Bruce’s lip twitch in a tiny little smile. 

“If you promise not to run off and blow anything up.” 

“That was _one time,”_ Dick whined, as he threw himself backward in his chair, “Let it _go.”_

Bruce smiled fully, then, and Jason felt a tiny piece inside his chest relax. Just a little. 

Because Bruce and Dick weren’t actually arguing, or anything. It was playful. They were _teasing_ each other. And Dick was _definitely_ legally there, and acted _just like_ Bruce’s real kid. 

Alfred came back to the room and sat a glass of orange juice down in front of Jason, along with an empty plate and a fork. Alfred wasted no time filling Jason’s plate with french toast, bacon, and eggs, and then moved the syrup to be within his reach. “If you want more,” Alfred said, after he handed the plate back, “please help yourself.” 

There was no way Jason would want more. He probably couldn’t finish what Alfred gave him.

Dick openly gawked when, not even a second later, Alfred rounded the table and sat down across from Jason and filled a plate of his own with food. 

Even though he knew it was _stupid,_ Jason felt like he could breathe a little more, with Alfred there. Trusting Alfred was probably a really insanely stupid thing to do, but he wanted more than anything for Alfred to be telling him the truth. 

And so far Alfred had been nothing but nice to him. _So, so_ nice. Even though he had lots of opportunities to be not nice. 

“Did you finish that book, young sir,” Alfred asked, after they all ate in silence for a couple minutes. 

Since Jason had read the book three times, and his favorite chapters over again twice more, he nodded. 

“What book did you read?” Dick asked, but Jason just sank down in his chair a little. They weren’t supposed to make him talk. They were supposed to leave him alone.

“Do you like to read?” Bruce asked, then, and Jason couldn’t help but tense. 

He _loved_ to read. But he couldn’t tell Bruce that because if Bruce _knew_ then he’d know exactly what to give him so he could take it away and Jason couldn’t _handle_ that. He was okay reading the same book over and over again forever, if _that_ was the alternative.

“I can get you a kindle,” Bruce continued, “if you want. That way you can download new books to it from your room and you can read whatever you want. Might be easier to hold with one arm, too.” 

He wasn’t going to let them _buy_ him, either. 

Even if having more books would be awesome and he’d be way less bored. But if Bruce did that, then he’d be falling for it, and then Bruce could just take the kindle _away,_ and then what would he make Jason do to get it back? And Jason didn’t want to do anything for anything and—

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, gently, “it is quite all right, lad.”

But it _wasn’t_ all right. He was _falling_ for it. For… For them and their stupid _nice_ games. 

They were trying to _get him,_ and luring him down for breakfast after a nice day the day before was how they were _doing it_ and Jason couldn’t do this. 

Before he knew he was doing it, Jason scooted his chair back loudly and ran out of the room. 

Like always, no one followed him. 

It didn’t help him feel better.

\- - - 

Lunchtime rolled around. Jason thought about going downstairs for all of about three seconds, but decided it was a terrible idea. 

He’d spent most the morning crying, which he _hated._ He had cried _way too much._ His ‘foster mom’ screamed at him, a couple times, for crying too much. 

But… he couldn’t help it. 

And no one in Wayne Manor seemed to care if he cried. None of them tried to hit him into stopping. Alfred even sat with him, that one time, when he cried. To try and comfort him. And… 

What even _was_ Wayne Manor?

Sometimes, he was _sure_ they were brainwashing him, but then other times they just made _no sense._

Footsteps came down the hall, and Jason buried his head under his pillow. He’d been laying in bed, under the covers, staring up at the ceiling for about an hour at that point. It was comfortable, if a little boring. 

At least it was _safe_. His chest didn’t feel so tight, laying there, even though he could tell it was Bruce approaching his room. 

“Jay, lad,” Bruce said, as he knocked on the door, “I brought you some lunch.” 

Like Jason was going to eat food _Bruce_ brought him. He probably drugged it. 

Although he wasn’t sure what good that would do Bruce, since Jason would still be locked inside his room. 

“I’m not hungry,” Jason grumbled, and he could hear Bruce sigh in response. 

_Fuck him,_ he wasn’t going to feel bad about it. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, as Jason heard the plate be set on the ground and Bruce sat down in front of the door. 

_Great._ They were going to _talk._

Jason _hated_ their talks, because it always ended with Bruce reminding him he was stuck there forever and eventually he’d have to come out. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce started, and already Jason wasn’t sure what to say. Because being _sorry_ didn’t mean jackshit. 

“I know I destroyed all chance of earning your trust when I brought you here,” Bruce continued, “and I don’t blame you for hating me. I shouldn’t have brought you here without your permission.” 

“What? You think I woulda said _yes_ to being bought?” Jason would have fought Batman with everything he _had,_ had Doctor Leslie not fucking drugged him. 

“No one _bought_ you,” Bruce sighed, “When I _brought_ you here, I fully intended on having a conversation with you in the morning about what our next step would be. Where we could place you so you felt safe and _were_ safe. But then you woke up in a panic and—“

“Oh so this is _my_ fault?” Jason yelled. It _wasn’t_ his fault and _fuck_ Bruce for suggesting it was. _Bruce_ was the one who kidnapped _him._ Bruce and Batman and Doctor Leslie. He was going to hate them _all_ and _not_ feel bad about it, no matter what Bruce said. 

“No,” Bruce said quickly, “I’m not saying that at all. I don’t blame you for jumping to that conclusion, since it’s happened to you in the past. It was a perfectly rational conclusion, even if it was _wrong._ Because, kiddo, I couldn’t even _dream_ of hurting you. All I want is for you to be safe and happy.”

Which is why they were brainwashing him. So he could act safe and happy, even though he wasn’t. 

“Then you should have let me go,” Jason said petulantly, even though he already knew what Bruce’s response to that was. ‘The street wasn’t safe.’ 

The street was safer than anywhere he’d been in a _long_ time. At least on the street he could run and hide and stay out of people’s way. Sure, he got caught that _one time,_ but had Batman just let him go everything would have been fine after. 

Probably. 

It would have been better than getting sold to a creep.

“I wish I could,” Bruce said, sounding almost sincere, “but the more I dug into your case, the more I realized foster care wasn’t safe. Not for you. Maybe not for anyone.”

“So?” Jason could have told him that. Jason _did_ tell Batman that. 

“So, the corruption there has to be expunged before I can turn you over to social services, and that could take _years._ I don’t see any other option but _here_ for you, in the meantime. Enough people know _you’re_ the reason Batman’s attention turned to the corruption, and none of them are going to take that lightly.”

 _There was a hit on him?_ Is that what Bruce was saying? 

How did Jason even know he was telling the _truth,_ and this wasn’t some magnificent scheme to convince Jason living with a possible-pedophile was his only safe option?

“But,” Bruce said, after a moment, “Their corruption works in our favor, a little.” 

“What do you mean?” It worked in _Bruce’s_ favor, for sure. Because it meant he got Jason. 

_Alfred said he’d kill him._

“Since they had your dad’s parental rights terminated, they placed you as a permanent ward. It was quite easy to get all the records changed to say my name, instead of who they originally placed you with.”

“So?” Jason said again, still not following what the hell Bruce was even talking about. He already knew _all this_ about his ‘case.’ 

“So, you are now legally present here,” Bruce said. He paused, then added, “And have been. For two months.” 

Oh. 

Jason took a shuddery breath, trying to convince himself not to start crying. If he ever escaped, and the police nabbed him, they’d send him right back to Bruce. _That’s_ what Bruce was saying. He had a fucking receipt for Jason, now. 

He knew money could buy a lot, but he didn’t know it could grasp this much control over his life. 

“And it’s a permanent placement,” Bruce continued, “Just like Dick’s, so no social worker will ever show up here. You won’t have to deal with that.”

How could Jason not have to deal with _Bruce?_ That’s what he wanted, now. No Bruce. 

Because, even if he _did_ find a way to escape, it was _useless._ Batman would find him, and return him. And if _Batman_ didn’t, the cops would. 

“Once the corruption is gone and it’s safe, we can discuss moving you, if that’s what you want, okay buddy?”

Yeah, _right._

Bruce _just said_ that would take years. They’d definitely have him brainwashed by then. He was trapped. 

He was so, unbelievably, trapped. Jason could definitely cry.

“But that means we have a choice to make,” Bruce said, then amended, “ _You_. You have a choice to make.” 

“What,” Jason asked warily. What kind of choice could he possibly have to make? He _wasn’t_ coming out of his room. He knew, logically, he couldn’t spend several years in his room, locked away so Bruce couldn’t get to him, but that didn’t mean he was going to come out willingly, _either._

 _Especially not now,_ not with Bruce proving how much Jason was _his,_ now. 

“We still have a month or so, so there’s _time,_ but I need to enroll you in school, so you need to decide where you want to go. I know you don’t like making choices, but this is _very_ important.” 

Jason’s breath caught.

_School?_

Bruce… Bruce was going to let him go to _school?_

_That fall?_

But… he hadn’t even been brainwashed yet. They hadn’t convinced him everything was good and happy and great, like Dick thought. Even though it kind of seemed like it _was_ happy and good for Dick. Did… did they think they’d have Jason convinced by the time school started? There was about six weeks left, Jason thought. Something around that. That wasn’t _a lot_ of time. 

“I know a lot of kids don’t like school,” Bruce said, “but education is _really_ important. We have a few options here in Bristol. Dick goes to Gotham Academy, which is in Gotham proper, but it’s the best school in the state so I highly recommend it. If you’d rather go to a public school, there’s Bristol Elementary, which is a good school in its own regard.”

Wasn’t Bruce scared he’d go squealing to a teacher about how Bruce _bought him_ and then _faked all the papers?_

Even if Bruce _didn’t_ hurt him between then and when school started, he’d still _kidnapped_ him, which was super illegal. 

_And Jason would tell on him,_ if he _ever_ tried to hurt him.

Maybe the teachers were all paid off, so they wouldn’t listen. 

That was _a lot_ of money to waste, though. When it would be way easier to just keep Jason locked up in the Manor and not let anyone know he existed. Rich people didn’t get rich from wasting money, he knew that much. 

_Or maybe Dick and Alfred were telling the truth._

“If you don’t like either of those options, we can also look at other private schools in the area. Online school or homeschooling is _also_ an option, but _I_ would prefer you go to school and interact with people outside this house.”

Wait.

Wait wait wait. 

Bruce actually _wanted_ Jason to have friends? And know people? Outside Wayne Manor? Like Dick did?

_And was willing to pay for Gotham Academy?_

That… none of this made sense! 

But Jason had always wanted to go to Gotham Academy. Ever since he heard about it, in 3rd grade, and learned that at _Gotham Academy,_ kids learned Latin and Greek starting in _1st grade._

_First._

_Grade._

His school hadn’t even taught _Spanish._ And they barely taught the English fundamentals. 

Going to Gotham Academy was like a _dream._

And Bruce _wanted_ him to go. 

Why would he kidnap him, keep not hurting him, let Jason keep himself from getting hurt, go through all the trouble of making Jason’s living arrangements _legal, and then pay 50 grand a year for school?_

“Did you hear all that,” Bruce asked, after he’d been silent a couple minutes. 

Jason had definitely _heard_ it all, but he still did not _understand_ it.

“Yeah,” he said, anyway, as loudly as his raspy voice would allow. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, more gently than he normally spoke, “You can think about it for a few weeks. It’s entirely your choice. I’m okay with anything you pick.” 

“Okay,” Jason whispered. 

“Okay,” Bruce repeated, as it sounded like he stood, “Take your time, kiddo. I’m leaving this plate here for you, please try to eat at least a few bites.” 

Bruce retreated, then. Down the hall and to the stairs. When Jason heard him walk down the stairs, too, he slowly got up and went over to the door. He hesitantly unlocked it and pulled the door open, to see an empty hall and plate sitting on the ground, just as promised. 

A plate filled with a cold cut sandwich, some raw veggies, and a little bag of chips. 

Sitting next to the plate, however, was a stack of books. And right on top was _The Restaurant at the End of the Universe,_ which he knew was the next book in the series he’d started. 

Jason had no idea how to feel. 

Nothing about Wayne Manor was making sense. But, as he ate his carrots and started reading his next book, nothing bad was happening. So at least there was _that._

_And he was going to go to school._

That _definitely_ wasn’t bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be one more scene at the end of this chapter, but I didn't think I'd get this much written at all. I had decided at like 9 to just write out the dialogue for the whole chapter, and somehow that turned into my just writing the chapter even though I just want to sleep. LOL The next scene will still happen, it'll probably just be posted as a very short chapter all on its own, tomorrow, unless I can figure out how to inflate it. I don't like switching POV in the middle of a chapter, and I think it needs to be from Jason's POV. 
> 
> Anywayyyyyyy thanks for reading, guys! We're getting close to the end. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jason hang out again, and Jason makes a startling realization.

The next day, Jason tried coming out of his room again.

He didn’t particularly want to, but then Dick said they could go outside again, and Jason had a really hard time saying ‘no’ and staying cooped up inside. Plus, Dick _promised_ Bruce was going to leave them alone, and since Jason didn’t even see him on their way outside, he guessed Dick wasn’t lying. 

“I swear we have kites around here somewhere,” Dick said, after he’d dragged Jason across the lawn and over to a shed, where apparently they kept a _ton_ of outside toys. 

Jason rolled his eyes and leaned against the shed’s door, watching as Dick dug through every shelf, looking for the ‘kites.’ Why he thought _kites_ was the best idea for the afternoon, Jason had no idea. Playing scrabble or something would have been more fun. 

Although with the wind, it probably wasn’t going to be very easy to play a board game outside, and Jason didn’t want to stay trapped on the patio. He felt a little freer outside, even if he knew there were fences all around him, keeping him trapped inside.

“We could play croquet,” Dick suggested, lifting up what looked like a giant mallet. 

“What’s croquet?” 

Dick hummed thoughtfully, then put the mallet down. “Good point. Bruce always has to remind me of the rules…. Um. How about soccer? We could just kick around a ball.”

 _“I don’t care,”_ he snapped.He was super close to just turning around and going back inside. Just the _thought_ of running around and playing some game was tiring him out. 

But, again. Outside. He didn’t feel _quite_ as relaxed outside as he did in his locked room, but it was the closest he got on Bruce’s property. 

That was probably dumb. Feeling any modicum of _relaxed_ while outside where Bruce could get him. Although with Bruce sending him to school in a few weeks, it was unlikely he’d pull anything yet. Not until he was _sure_ Jason wouldn’t blab about it. 

Somehow, the thought actually _comforted_ Jason, a little. 

Which was also stupid. And how they were going to get him.

“Oh!” Dick exclaimed, making Jason startle a little, “Here they are!” 

Dick proudly held up two kites, both Justice League themed, and Jason rolled his eyes even harder. 

Great. 

“I’ve never flown a kite before,” he admitted, when Dick shoved one at him and started leading him to a large piece of open lawn. 

“It’s easy. I’ll show you.”

It was _not_ easy. 

For one, it required two hands. And since he couldn’t grasp anything with his left hand, it was completely impossible for him to hold the string with one hand, and the kite with the other while he ran and tried to catch some wind and get some lift on the kite. And Jason _refused_ to let Dick help him. 

“This is dumb,” Jason grumbled, as he tossed his stupid kite on the ground. He was tempted to just go inside. 

Go inside and get his book and find a quiet place to read it outside. Would that be allowed? Sure, Dick had been the one to bring him outside, but that didn’t mean he had to do what Dick said. Right? Dick wasn’t the boss of him, and he didn’t _want_ to run around and play anything.

“Well then what do _you_ want to do,” Dick asked, his face something of a mix between a frown and scowl.

Good. Jason didn’t _care_ if he annoyed Dick. Dick was annoying _him._

“Read my book.”

“Oh,” Dick said, shifting fully to a frown, “Okay. You can do that, I guess. I’ll shoot some hoops, or something.” 

Refusing to let Dick guilt him into doing anything else, Jason nodded and turned on his heels toward the house. Going up to his room was a little more nerve wracking than he wanted, but he made sure to avoid Bruce’s study on his way there, and thankfully did not run into anyone. 

The way back, however, was a little more eventful. Because Alfred caught him with an, “Ah, Master Jason,” before Jason was able to fully escape out the back door. 

Trying not to let his stomach flip upside down, like it was trying to do, Jason slowly turned and faced Alfred.

“Nothing to worry about, lad,” Alfred said, holding two water bottles up for Jason to see, “Master Dick failed to bring the water I prepared you lads. Could you please bring it with you?” 

“Oh, okay,” he mumbled, waiting for Alfred to finish approaching him so he could take the water. It was a little awkward, finding a way to hold the book and the bottles without getting the book wet, but he figured it out. 

“I see you are enjoying your new books,” Alfred said, when he saw Jason was reading the third book in the series Alfred had started him on, “Please don’t feel as though you must wait for Master Dick’s invitation, if you wish to go outside. Just let me know where you are, and you are welcome to retreat into the gardens whenever you wish.” 

“Really?” Jason _hated_ how fucking hopeful it came out sounding, but if he _were_ allowed outside, alone, and didn’t even have to talk to Bruce about it, that was great. He had assumed Dick always had to get Bruce’s permission to bring Jason outside. And like _hell_ was Jason going to track Bruce down in the Manor and ask him anything. 

“Of course, my dear boy,” Alfred nearly exclaimed, as if it should have been _obvious,_ “You are welcome anywhere you wish to be, and outside is included in that.”

He didn’t really wish to be _anywhere_ in or near the Manor, but since he _had_ to be, he supposed spending more time _outside,_ away from Bruce wouldn’t be too bad. 

“Well, go on,” Alfred said, making a shooing motion, “Don’t let me keep you.”

With a nod, Jason said, “Thanks, Alfred.” And if Alfred was the one keeping track of his whereabouts, maybe that meant Alfred was being serious about his promise to protect him. 

"My pleasure, dear boy,” Alfred said, patting Jason on the head before he turned and walked off. Off toward whatever it was Alfred did all day.

What _did_ Alfred do all day? Maybe Jason should ask him sometime. 

Jason spent the next couple hours sitting outside, shifting between reading his book and watching Dick do whatever ridiculous thing Dick was doing. 

Dick spent some time doing backflips and cartwheels and all sorts of weird gymnastics stuff, there for a while. Not only did Jason think he was a _showoff,_ but he also thought it was all _super cool._

“I can teach you once you’re out of your cast and stuff,” Dick said, once he noticed Jason watching him, instead of reading his book, “I don’t want to get you hurt any more.” 

“You didn’t use your hands for that backflip,” Jason pointed out, but he saw Dick’s point. Falling and hurting his _other_ arm would suck majorly. 

And it would probably mess up his bad arm, if he fell wrong on the cast. Was it possible to break an arm _again_ inside a cast?

“Yeah, but you can’t _start_ with a back-spring with no hands. You gotta start easy and build up your muscles, and Bruce would kill me if I made you stay in that cast longer.” 

“ _Plus,_ ” Dick continued, “if you _watch,_ you’ll see I’m using my arms for momentum.” Dick did another backflip, but Jason _wasn’t_ watching.

Because he was thinking over what Dick had just said. 

Bruce would _kill_ him if Jason had to keep his cast longer than necessary. Obviously he knew ‘kill him’ was just a phrase. Bruce wouldn’t actually kill him, but he’d be really mad at Dick. 

Because…

Was _that_ why Bruce didn’t care what Jason did right now? Because of his cast? Because it was in the way and inconvenient. Jason couldn’t do _anything_ with it. Not really. 

And that would mean _Bruce_ can’t…

Oh, no. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? He still had like seven more weeks in the cast, and Bruce kept _saying_ they had to go to the doctor, to get it checked on. Because he wanted to make sure it was healing right and they could get the cast off as fast as possible and…

_No._

“Hey,” Dick said, walking over to where Jason was sitting in the grass, his book abandoned in front of him where he’d quit reading it, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean Bruce would _actually_ kill me, if that’s what you’re upset about.” 

Jason shook his head, and focused really hard on controlling his breathing so he wouldn’t burst out into tears _right there._

This was stupid. 

This was so, so, so stupid. He still had two months in the cast. He shouldn’t _worry._

Because… there was nothing he could do about it. 

And he was _so sick_ of worrying. 

Plus. He’d be in school, by the time the cast came off, so even _if_ Alfred was lying, he could tell a teacher. And if that teacher didn’t help him, he’d tell another. And another. And _all_ the teachers until _someone_ helped. 

Right? 

“Can I hug you?” Dick asked, as he took a seat right next to Jason, close enough he could just drag Jason to his side. He didn’t, though, he looked at Jason and waited for Jason to answer.

Jason didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know if a hug would help. Scrubbing at his eyes, he shrugged. 

“Tell me if it sucks, okay,” Dick said, as he slowly put his arm around Jason’s shoulder and tugged him closer. 

It _didn’t_ suck. But it did make Jason start crying for real. And Jason hated _that._

 _“_ Shh,” Dick said, rubbing his arm, “It’s okay. Why are you crying?”

“I hate it here.” Why _else_ was he crying? It was all he ever cried about anymore. 

Dick wrapped his other arm around Jason and sat his chin in Jason’s hair, and that only made it _worse._ Because it was actually helping, a little. Helping his chest let up, and stop feeling so tight and so suffocating like it was _all the time._ Which just made him cry _harder._

“I know, buddy,” Dick said eventually, “but it’s going to get _better,_ not worse. I promise.” 

“You _can’t,_ ” Jason protested. Because Dick was just the kid. He couldn’t control Bruce _at all._ And maybe even Alfred couldn’t control Bruce. 

“Yeah, I can,” Dick said, almost soothingly, “You have so many people who would do _anything_ to protect you, you don’t even know it.” 

How could he? Only Batman, Bruce, Leslie, and Alfred knew he even existed. And out of them, only _maybe_ Alfred would try and protect him. 

“Do you want me to stay here this weekend,” Dick said, a little suddenly. 

His tone startled Jason enough that he was able to quit crying, and just sniffled a little as he asked, “What?” 

“I was going to leave the Manor all weekend, but if you want me to stay here so I can, I don’t know, buffer between you and Bruce, I can do that. My friends will still be there next week, or in however long it takes you to be okay.”

“You don’t have to,” Jason mumbled. Because he was _never_ going to be okay with any of this. 

“It’s fine. You’re, like, my foster brother now, you know? So I think all my friends will understand.” 

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought about how Jason being ‘legally’ Bruce’s ‘ward’ meant he was anything to Dick, other than the kid Bruce had bought. Or kidnapped. Or whatever.

“Yeah,” Dick said, letting go of Jason and sitting up with a little smile on his face, “I’ll text them now. It’s fine.” Dick pulled out a cell phone and started texting someone, so Jason sat up, away from him, so he wouldn’t think Jason was trying to read his texts or whatever. 

Jason’s lip wobbled as he tried to take a deep breath and calm back down. He kind of wished he could just be Dick’s foster brother, and nothing else. Get to be in the house, like Dick, and grow up and be happy. But he couldn’t figure out how that would be possible, because rich people did _not_ buy children just to let them grow up and be happy. 

“There,” Dick said, setting his phone down next to him and smiling at Jason, “We should do something fun this weekend. Like, a movie marathon, or something. We could do it in your room, if that’s what you want. Or we can just banish Bruce from the theater and he won’t bother us. It’ll be—“ 

Jason jumped, _hard,_ when a blast of wind hit him in the face, and _someone_ exclaimed, “Dude,” standing _right in front of them._

_Completely out of no where._

“What the fuck,” Jason shouted, scrambling backward away from the red-haired teenager that had just appeared _out of no where._

“How long have you had a new brother, what the heck, dude. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“ _Wally,”_ Dick chastised, looking a little horrified his… friend? Just _appeared out of no where._

Although, he looked way less _surprised_ than Jason would have thought. 

Because.

_Out_

Of

_Nowhere._

“Hi,” the kid said, grinning so wide it only made Jason’s eyes go wider. Because what the _fuck_ was happening. “I’m Wally A.K.A, Kid Flash. I’m Dick’s best friend. That’s so cool he got a new brother, I didn’t know Mr. Wayne was in the market for new kids. What’s your name?” 

“ _Wally,_ ” Dick snapped, then turned to Jason, “he did _not_ mean that in the way it just sounded.”

But Jason was _not_ focused on any of that. He was still stuck on ‘Kid Flash.’ 

Why in the _hell_ was Dick Grayson best friends with _Kid Flash._

Kid Flash lived in Central City, as far as Jason was aware. And Dick lived in _Gotham._ How was _Kid Flash_ one of the ‘friends’ Dick was going to spend the weekend with?

Did Bruce honestly just let Dick galavant to wherever he _wanted_ in the entire _country_ for the weekend?

And, on top of all that, Kid Flash was a _superhero._

Who the fuck was _Dick Grayson_ that he… was… 

Jason was stupid, wasn’t he?

 _Dick Grayson_ lived with _Bruce Wayne_ since he was nine. Willingly. And it ‘wasn’t bad.’ 

_Robin_ started with _Batman_ when _he_ was nine. And Robin was friends with all the other kid superheroes all over the country. 

And Dick Grayson had the _same_ messy black hair that Robin did. Sure, that didn’t mean anything, since black hair was super common in Gotham, but it certainly didn’t _help_ their case. 

Because Bruce kept saying stuff like, “I looked into your case,” and “I discovered corruption,” and “I _brought_ you home, didn’t buy you.” And he wasn’t hurting Jason. And staying away from him. And respecting his space. And doing everything to try and make Jason think he was safe. 

To… try and make Jason… feel safe. 

And. 

Holy _fuck._

“So Bruce _didn’t_ buy me?” Jason asked, a little uneasily. Because if Batman _was_ Bruce Wayne, that meant he didn’t need money. And so he didn’t need to sell Jason. And it wasn’t like he could sell Jason to _himself_ and actually make money off it. 

“No,” Dick exclaimed, “That’s what we keep _telling_ you.”

“Why would Bruce ‘buy’ you,” Wally asked, turning to Dick with a confused look on his face. 

“Why _else_ do pedophiles buy children,” Jason snapped. He didn’t _need_ this idiot’s input. 

Actually, what he needed was to go to his room to fucking _think._

But then Wally startled, his eyes going comically wide as he asked Dick, frantically, “He didn’t did he?”

“Of course not,” Dick shouted back.

Jason just sat there. Staring off into the distance for a second. Because… “No,” he admitted, in a hushed voice.

No, Bruce _hadn’t_ done anything to him. Hadn’t even tried to _touch him,_ even just to gently move him out of a doorway. 

Aside from forcing him to go to the doctor, and then drugging him so he could kidnap him and bring him home…

Kidnap him so he could feed him and send him to school and protect him from the mobs? 

“He would never,” Dick added, and Jason wasn’t sure if he was reassuring Wally or him. 

“Yeah, there’s no way the Justice League would stand for that,” Wally said, earning a glare from Dick, “My uncle would _flip,_ I know.” 

“ _Wally,”_ Dick snapped, then pointed at his phone. 

“Like,” Jason said, ignoring how Wally looked at his own phone and turned a little pale, “Wonder Woman and Superman?” Batman was ‘friends’ with them, right? 

And. The Justice League was supposed to be _good._ And protect kids. And. “Would they kick him out,” he asked, finally turning his attention fully to Dick.

“Way to go, Wally,” Dick mumbled, “Bruce is gonna _kill_ me for sure.” 

“It’s not my fault!” Wally exclaimed, “Why wouldn’t Batman tell his own kid who he is, what the hell? Who _does_ that?”

“Bruce does,” Dick shot back, “he did the same thing to me!”

“What the heck!”

“ _Would they,”_ Jason insisted, trying to make the two idiots _focus._ Because he needed this answer. He _needed_ to know. 

“They’d _skewer_ him,” Dick said, “Like. I don’t know if the League has ever sentenced anyone to death, but I would not be surprised if they did something like that.”

“Yeah, or send him to the phantom zone, maybe,” Wally said, “No way they let someone they had among their ranks commit crimes like that and then _walk.”_

“So,” Jason started, but he couldn’t get anything else out. 

Because he burst into tears. 

_Again._

This time, though. This time the crying was different.

It wasn’t making him feel worse and worse. It was… it was making him feel _so much lighter._

Because. Because.

Batman _didn’t_ traffic kids? And…

Just. 

Was _everything_ he thought wrong? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🙃 I have no idea what happens next. But I got like 5 hours of cleaning tomorrow at work so thats a loooooooot of time to think. LOL 
> 
> Let me know what y'all thought about that. I had like 4 different ways that realization could go, but I thought this was a good piece of funny for this otherwise... a little heavier than intended fic. 😬


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Jason knows, everything changes.

Bruce needed to do a serious overhaul of the Manor’s security. 

The proximity alarms went off periodically. Usually because a deer _somehow_ managed to get through the fence, and was prancing around on the grounds. And sometimes because a certain speedster never listened to Bruce and phoned ahead before appearing somewhere on the estate.

That’s what Bruce was hoping the alarms were going off for, this time. He needed to figure out how to program it to ignore deer and Wally West. Because once it could, he wouldn’t have to search the grounds, with a touch of panic in his chest, looking for where the kids were and hoping they weren’t being threatened by anyone more sinister. 

He’d never particularly thought about it, in all honesty. Before, when it was just Dick, he knew he hadn’t needed to worry. Dick was Robin. Dick could defend himself and take care of himself, even _if_ someone had broken onto the grounds and was targeting him. It didn’t mean Bruce didn’t worry about the kid, of course. But Bruce _trusted_ he would be okay, at least long enough for Bruce to get there.

Now that they had Jason? And Jason was outside, when the alarms went off?

It caused a touch of panic in his chest.

But, of course, there was no need to worry.

Because once Bruce reached the far end of the rose garden, he found _three_ boys, not merely the two that belonged to him. 

“Wallace,” Bruce said, a little harshly, as he approached. Wally was standing, several feet away from Jason and Dick, who were both sitting on the ground. Dick hugging Jason pretty tightly, while Jason cried into his own knees. 

He wasn’t sure what to do about that. Had Wally scared him? Was he just crying because he did that a lot? 

Had Bruce scared him?

“Uhh,” Wally said, smiling tightly, “Hi, Mr. Wayne. Sorry, I forgot. I got excited.” 

Excited? Bruce raised an eyebrow, then turned to look at Jason and Dick. Jason was an absolute mess of tears and hiccups, and Dick was still holding him, clearly trying to calm him down.

The fact that Jason _allowed_ Dick to hug him made Bruce soften, a little. At least Jason was coming to trust _someone_ in the house. 

“Are you okay, Jase?” Bruce asked, unsure whether he should just leave or try and comfort the boy, too. Jason likely would not take to his comfort…. 

Jason simply tightened his grip on his legs and buried his face into his knees harder.

“Sorry,” Bruce said, throwing a hand up in surrender, “If that’s because of me, I’ll go away. I didn’t mean to cause any distress.” 

Dick shook his head, and frowned up at Bruce.

“He was crying before you got here,” Wally said. When Bruce turned to him, Wally shifted from one foot to the other and added, “Uh, I’m not sure why.”

“It’s because,” Jason said, between his heartbreaking little sniffles and hiccups, “Bruce is an _asshole.”_

Bruce blinked. He…wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or not. Jason wasn’t typically so… forward with him. 

Not when he wasn’t safely inside his bedroom, with no way for Bruce to ‘get him.’

“I am?” he asked. 

Dick smirked, then clearly tried to hide the smirk when Bruce shot him a look. 

“Yes,” Jason spat, uncurling a little and turning to face Bruce. 

To look straight into Bruce’s eyes.

And Bruce just froze there. 

Because.

Jason didn’t look _scared._

Every single time Jason looked at him, there had _always_ been an underlying touch of fear there. Pure _terror._

But, now. Now Jason was looking at him, and there was no fear. Only anger. And perhaps a touch of hatred.

Bruce supposed he deserved the hatred. 

“This whole time,” Jason said, scowling hard, “You let me think Batman _sold me_ to you, but he didn’t! Because you _are_ Batman. You’re an _asshole.”_

He—

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He _didn’t_ ‘let’ Jason think that. He’d disputed it _every time._

And _how did Jason find out._

Bruce snapped his attention to the older two boys, who both immediately shrank under his gaze. 

“Look,” Wally said, holding his hands out and taking a step back, “It’s not my fault, okay? I just assumed the new kid you adopted would know because, like, why wouldn’t he?”

“You’re not helping,” Dick groaned. 

And Jason snapped, “He’s _not_ adopting me.” 

“In Bruce’s defense,” Dick said, turning toward Jason, “We kept telling you the _entire time_ no one sold you to anyone.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Bruce closed his eyes, and rubbed at his temples for a moment. He still had no idea what was going on.

“Also, no one _told him,_ okay, Bruce?” Dick said, “He figured it out on his own. So. You can’t be mad at us.” 

That didn’t surprise Bruce at all. Jason was _sharp._

“I’m not mad at anyone,” Bruce said tiredly, opening his eyes and looking back down at the boys. Jason was still glaring at him, but the other two boys relaxed, a little. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Jason.” 

“Yeah,” Jason scoffed, as he stood to his feet, “I’m sure you are.” 

“I didn’t think you’d take it well. You don’t seem to hold Batman in any high regard.” 

“ _Because he sold me to a rich pedophile,”_ Jason screeched, stomping a foot before he turned and picked his book up off the ground, “No one should hold an asshole like that in any sort of _regard.”_

Bruce sighed. He wasn’t entirely convinced _telling_ Jason he was Batman would have solved anything, anyway. “Do you believe now I’m not a pedophile?” 

“Fuck you,” Jason snapped again, as he started storming off toward the Manor. 

“Jason,” Bruce called after him, unsure of _what_ he wanted to say. He wanted to make this better. Wanted to make sure Jason was okay now, understood that he was _safe._

But Jason turned around, and his face crumbled when he looked at Bruce again. “Fuck you, Bruce,” he cried, “You coulda _told_ me. This whole time I thought you were gonna— you were—“ Jason let out a sob, then scowled harder at Bruce through his tears, “I _hate_ you,” he screamed, throwing his book at Bruce before he spun on his heels and ran toward the Manor. 

Bruce let the book hit him, then picked it up with a sigh. _So Long and Thanks for All the Fish._ The fourth book in the series. Which meant he’d read at least two books in the previous 24 hours. Two high school level books. At the age of nine.

He was _definitely_ buying Jason a kindle. 

A hobby like that needed to be encouraged. 

“Um,” Dick stammered. When Bruce looked over at him, he smiled a little and said, “At least he knows now you won’t hurt him?”

With a sigh, Bruce looked toward the sky for a moment. He really wasn’t sure if he was upset about _any_ of this.

Because Dick was right. 

At least Jason had moved beyond his fear, even if just enough to scream at Bruce without a locked door between them.

“Mr. West,” Bruce said, before he went back inside, “I expect you to use the buzzer, next time you wish to visit Wayne Manor.”

“Yes, sir,” Wally said, as Bruce walked away. 

\- - -

Bruce let Jason simmer in his room for an hour, in hopes of letting the boy calm down some before he went upstairs. 

“Jason,” he said, as he knocked on the boy’s door, glad he couldn’t hear any crying from inside, “Buddy, can we talk?”

“No,” Jason snapped, clearly still _pissed_ at Bruce. 

Sighing, Bruce looked down at Jason’s book in his hand and asked, “Do you want your book back? I brought it with me.” 

“ _Go away,”_ Jason yelled, “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“I’m sorry,” he tried, fully ready to set the book down and walk off. 

But then Jason said, with a slight whine, “You could have told me.” 

“Would you have believed me?”

“You could have proved it,” Jason said, a little petulantly. If Bruce could see him, he was _convinced_ Jason had his little arms crossed and was scowling hard at the door. 

“I can’t convince you to come out of this room, Jase,” he said, suppressing a soft chuckle. Jason was _stubborn._ And he knew, that was only going to get _worse,_ as Jason grew more comfortable. Got older. 

Bruce _loved_ stubborn kids, if he were being honest. He just wasn’t sure he was going to enjoy helping _raise_ a stubborn child. 

Which… was what he and Alfred were going to do. Raise Jason. Just like they were doing with Dick. 

The thought made Bruce smile a little more. 

“You’re _Batman,”_ Jason pointed out, _“_ I doubt you can’t really get in here.”

“I actually can’t. If this was an apartment I needed to break into, I would physically break the door. This door is over 100 years old, I’m not going to break it.” Alfred would absolutely murder him. And besides, Bruce would _never_ give Jason so much reason to fear him.

He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, being a terrified nine-year-old, having a man four or five times his size bust down his door and invade his room. No matter what his intent would be doing that, it would be _wrong._

“Oh,” Jason said, his tone much more even than before. Like he was actually _listening_ and _thinking._

And, most importantly, _believing_ Bruce. 

“The only reason I’d break into your room is if there’s a fire and you aren’t responding, because I’d assume you unconscious.” 

Jason hesitated for a moment, then said, “To protect me.”

“Yeah, kiddo. To protect you. That’s _all_ I want to do.” That was the whole reason _why_ Bruce had kidnapped him. 

Bruce listened as little feet landed on the floor, over next to Jason’s bed, and then stomped across his room. Jason undid the chain and unlocked the knob, so Bruce took a step back. When Jason threw the door open, he stared down at the little boy. 

The little boy who was scowling up at him. 

“Give me back my book,” he said demandingly, holding his hand out. 

When Bruce did, Jason stepped back and slammed the door shut again, then stomped back over to his bed where he clearly climbed back up into it, based on the way the mattress squeaked. 

All Bruce could do was smile. 

\- - - 

The weekend came, and Jason started to chill out. 

He was still mad at Bruce, and made sure Bruce was aware, every so often. But overall he was pretty quiet. 

At least he started being quiet while outside his room. 

They ate every single meal _together,_ and Jason even finished everything on his plate for the first time, two days after finding out Bruce was Batman. 

And on Sunday, he and Dick spent the entire day watching movies together in the theater. 

Since Jason hadn’t spent much time anywhere in the Manor that wasn’t the kitchen, dining room, or his bedroom, Bruce left the boys alone most the afternoon, all in hopes of encouraging Jason to make use of _other_ rooms. He wanted Jason to know he really was safe, and his space was going to be respected no matter what. No matter where he was, or what he was doing. 

But as the afternoon wore on, Bruce grew bored, and started to wonder whether the boys would let him join.

Which was how Bruce found himself standing in the doorway of his own living room, waiting for permission to enter. 

Dick had looked up and smiled, when he knocked on the door, but Jason hadn’t even lifted his head from where he was sprawled in an armchair, his legs dangling over one arm and his back resting up against the other, all of him absolutely swimming under a gigantic blanket. 

“Do you boys mind if I join you for a movie or two?” 

Of course, Dick grinned wide at his request, but turned toward Jason, allowing Jason to make the final decision. 

After a moment of contemplation, Jason rolled his eyes dramatically and shrugged, sinking down in his chair a little more, not once looking away from the screen. 

It was Ice Age they were watching, he was fairly certain. 

Taking it as permission to enter, Bruce made his way to the couch on the exact opposite side of the room from Jason. Which really only meant he was sitting about fifteen feet away, but he hoped it was enough distance that it didn’t make Jason uncomfortable. 

He really _didn’t_ want to ruin the boys’ fun, only join in on it. 

They spent most the movie sitting in silence. Dick occasionally making stupid remarks about the movie, in a clear attempt to make Jason laugh. 

Jason _didn’t,_ but Bruce snorted a few times. 

By the end of the movie, Dick had scooted all the way down the couch, until he was leaning up against Bruce’s arm, so Bruce freed his arm and placed it up on the couch behind Dick, allowing him to lean up against his side instead.

“My turn,” Jason said, once the credits started rolling, “ _The Wizard of Oz._ ” 

“Ugh,” Dick groaned, as he jumped up and went to change out the DVDs, “you pick old people movies.” 

“Shut up, dickface, you picked _Cars_ twice.” 

“It was Cars 1 and Cars 2,” Dick shouted. He located _The Wizard of Oz_ on their shelf of DVDs, and started switching it out with the _Ice Age_ disk. “Two different movies!” 

“They both sucked.” 

“I’m gonna make you watch _Barney’s Great Adventure_ next if you don’t shut up.” 

“There’s no way you have that,” Jason said, sitting up a little to look at Dick better, “Please tell me you _don’t_ have that. _Why_ would you have that? You were _nine_ when you got here.” 

“Bruce is an idiot and didn’t know what kids liked.” 

Despite the jab, all Bruce could do was smile. 

And keep smiling, even after the boys went silent and watched the movie with rapt attention. 

Or, perhaps not _rapt_ attention.

Because an hour into the movie, Bruce did not miss when, despite picking the movie, Jason _fell asleep._

Right there. Curled up in the chair on the other side of the living room. 

Bruce had been sneaking glances over at Jason every once in a while, and had seen Jason jump, a couple times, as he started to drift. But he hadn’t expected Jason to finally succumb to it and _fall asleep._

All he could do was smile more, and ignore it. 

It only lasted about ten minutes, however. Because Jason snored rather loudly, and jumped sky high at the sound. 

“You okay, kiddo,” Bruce asked, internally wincing at how it must have hurt to jump so hard while curled up on the armchair. 

Jason looked over at him with wide eyes, then at how Dick was curled up into Bruce’s side again, watching the movie from there.

After a second, Jason nodded once and said, slowly, “I… I fell asleep.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, offering a gentle smile. Hoping to let Jason know it was _okay,_ and _fine_ if he did it again. Because nothing would happen to him. 

“It’s okay, you can sleep,” Dick said, stretching his arms out and bonking Bruce right in the face as he did, “oops, sorry,” he mumbled. Dick settled back down against Bruce’s side and curled up even more and added, “I’m pretty tired, too.” 

Bruce just wrapped his arm around Dick, perfectly content to let Dick take a nap right there. If that was truly what he was going to do, and it wasn’t just a show for Jason. 

Jason stared at them for a long minute, before he finally shifted some in his chair until he was laying on his side, completely curled up on the seat of the armchair. 

By the end of the movie, both boys were completely asleep. 

And Bruce just used the remote, sitting on the couch next to Dick, to find something else to watch. 

\- - - 

“Bruce?” Jason asked, three days later, when Bruce was sitting at his desk in his study, working on a case. 

So far, Jason had pretty much avoided him, wherever he was. He didn’t particularly complain, if Bruce chose to be where _Jason_ was. But every time Bruce was sure to only offer his presence when Dick was _also_ there. 

Because Jason and Dick were getting along _fabulously._

Even if they were starting to bicker, more. 

“Yeah?” Bruce asked, looking up at where Jason was standing in the doorway. 

And in those three days, Jason had most certainly _never_ sought Bruce out in his study. 

Jason held onto the doorframe with his good hand, as he looked everywhere in the room _but_ at Bruce and chewed on his cheek. After a moment, he finally asked, “Were you serious?” 

“About?” Bruce prompted, because there was _a lot_ this could be about.

With a deep breath, Jason asked, “About school. Gotham Academy.”

“Yeah, bud. You need to go to school.” 

“But,” Jason said, turning his attention to the doorframe his hand was still on. He started picking at the paint, and Bruce resisted the urge to tell him to _knock it off_ because _repainting is a pain._ “But is _Gotham Academy_ really an option?” 

Nodding, Bruce said, “Yeah, of course.” 

All Jason did was nod, still refusing to look over at Bruce. 

So Bruce asked, “Is that where you want to go?” 

“Yeah,” Jason breathed, cutting his eyes over to Bruce just briefly, before he looked away again. 

“All right then,” Bruce said, smiling a little as he navigated toward his email on his laptop, “I’ll schedule you an admissions interview.” He could do that right then, with a simple email to the headmaster. 

Jason shifted from one foot to the other and asked, “What… what is that?” 

“It’s just an interview,” he assured, as he started drafting the email, “They’ll probably have you take some placement tests and talk with you for a little while. No reason to worry. Alfred and I can go with you.” 

“Oh.” Jason nodded, “And they can say no and not let me go?” 

“Well, technically, but that’s not going to happen.” 

“Are—” Jason started, but then paused and took a shaky breath. Bruce snapped his attention up, and _finally_ Jason turned his gaze on Bruce. “How do you know?”

Bruce locked eyes with Jason, and saw actual _fear_ in there. But not the kind of fear he’d held for Bruce, for so long, but the fear of _rejection._

“Well,” Bruce started, slowly. Unsure _how_ to reassure this little boy that he had _absolutely nothing_ to worry about, “For one, I’m Bruce Wayne. They won't be denying my kid admission. But second, kiddo, they would be remiss to deny _you_ admission, my kid or not.” 

He had a feeling Gotham Academy would have accepted Jason years ago, had they simply known the child existed. They did that, sometimes. When one of the public schools discovered a child with so much potential, they contacted Gotham Academy and asked if they have a scholarship available. More than once Bruce had received a call asking if he’d sponsor a child, and every single time he said ‘yes’ without hesitation. 

Jason clearly didn’t realize how smart he truly was, because he asked, “Why?” like he couldn’t think of a single reason Gotham Academy would want _him._

“You are _brilliant,_ Jason, don’t you know that?”

“I—“ Jason started, then shifted, his lip twitching a little as he asked, “Really?” 

“Yes, _really._ I could tell, right from the second I met you, that you are one special kid. It’s right there in your eyes, how smart you really are.” 

Jason adverted his eyes again, and picked at the paint as he asked, “Is that why you kidnapped me?” 

Probably. _That_ and how Jason had somehow made Bruce fall for him, just as _Dick_ had done, within four seconds of meeting him. 

“I’ll admit,” Bruce said, “my exact thoughts were ‘this child being on the street is a fucking tragedy’”

“Really?” Jason asked again, clearly _amused_ at Bruce’s language. Even if he still wasn’t smiling.

“Yeah, kiddo. I saw you and I decided to do something about it, and take you off the street myself. I want your gifts to be nurtured, not squandered on figuring out how to stay alive day to day, struggling for food and fighting off the gangs.”

“Oh,” Jason whispered.

“I want to see you grow up and reach your fullest potential, whatever that may be.”

He wanted to give Jason the _world._ He knew it wasn’t something he could do for every child in Gotham. There were hundreds of children. _Thousands_ out there, who deserved so much better than what the world handed them. But at least for _Jason,_ Bruce could do anything. And would. No matter what it was. 

Jason smiled, then. Shyly. As he looked back at Bruce and asked, once again, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said softly, blinking back tears, because he had _never_ seen Jason smile. Not once. It was a beautiful smile. “Really.” 

Nodding, Jason said, “Okay.” He started to turn, to leave the room, but then asked, a little hastily, “So, can I still use the library?”

Bruce just had to laugh. Because this kid was a _nerd._

And he _loved_ it.

“Yes. This house is yours now, kiddo, and that includes the library.” 

Jason smiled even wider, biting his lip as he did. “Cool,” he said, as he started to leave the room again, “Thanks, Bruce.” 

“My pleasure, Jay.” 

They had gotten off to a rough start. If Bruce could do it over again, he would do it _all_ differently, but he was happy with where it landed them. It was all uphill from there.

And even if Jason was still shy, at times. And moody, others. He was completely worth it. Because Jason was such a wonderful addition to their little, strange family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who guessed 10? Cause it's 10. The next chapter is kind of a chapter, kind of an epilogue. It'll have some time skips, but it'll probably be as long as the other chapters have been. But yeah. The story is pretty much done now. :D I can't believe I did this. LOL 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments. I love you guys so much. <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: Jason has a birthday, starts school, and Bruce offers the kids something.

Jason’s tenth birthday came and went.

They had a little celebration. Nothing massive at all. Just the four of them, a small cake, and a few gifts.

Even then, it had been a little overwhelming for Jason. He was still funny about gifts, and had a hard time accepting things from them without immediately switching to wary. 

He had accepted the Kindle Bruce got him, his fourth week in the Manor, but only after a brief fit about ‘being bought.’ Bruce wasn’t sure if he _really_ feared they were brainwashing him, or if he just sometimes got into a panic, anyway. His level of fear and distrust was hard to come down off of, Bruce supposed. Trust was _not_ something that could be earned at the drop of a hat. 

After the tears had ended, Jason let Bruce walk him through how to download books, free ones through the subscription Bruce bought him, and how to purchase books using gift cards Bruce said Jason could earn after his initial one ran out. _That_ had set off another mini-fit, but Bruce just explained that Dick did chores, too, to earn pocket money. Chores like helping Alfred garden, taking out the trash, or unloading the dishwasher.

It was a slow process, but Bruce was determined that one day he’d be able to say things without Jason immediately jumping to bad conclusions. At least now Jason usually seemed to catch himself and remind himself that all _those_ assumptions were wrong. In the meantime, Bruce started up a document of topics to avoid, or approach with caution, with Jason, so they could all be on the same page and ensure _most_ of Jason’s days were meltdown-free.

Or… at least half of them.

For his birthday, they all bought him smaller gifts. Little things he could use. A gift card to reload his Amazon account. A few clothing articles, including a red hoody to replace the one they had ‘so evilly destroyed’ the first night Bruce met him. And, Jason’s favorite, to Bruce’s continued amusement, tickets to a musical in Gotham. Just him and Alfred. 

Theater was, apparently, another thing Jason loved. And he and Alfred had bonded quickly over their shared interests in that and literature. Alfred didn’t have favorites, Bruce knew. But if he _did,_ they all knew it would be Jason. 

School started a couple weeks after Jason’s birthday, and despite him blowing all the placement tests out of the water, Bruce had _insisted_ he be placed at his natural grade level. If only for the socialization. 

Jason’s summer had been _rough,_ and Bruce didn’t want him dealing with bullying or anything at school, associated with being younger than the rest of the kids. Bruce just wanted him to make friends, and find some semblance of ‘normal’ at Gotham Academy. 

If Jason grew bored of the schooling, he could easily supplement it at home. But he doubted Jason would get bored. That boy was so excited about Gotham Academy, Bruce wasn’t anticipating a peep of complaint from him.

The morning of his first day, Jason came skipping into the dinning room, mostly dressed in his school uniform, absolutely _beaming._

“Excited for school today, chum?” Bruce asked, when Jason climbed up into the seat he’d been using most recently, at the table. Directly next to Bruce, across from where Dick sat. 

Jason had moved there only a couple weeks back during dinner, when he needed Bruce’s help to cut up his steak. Bruce had expected Jason to move back to his spot next to Dick, once his food was bite-sized. But he hadn’t. And he proceeded to sit there every meal since. 

Bruce was not saying a _word_ about it, because he knew calling attention to it would only embarrass Jason. Or make him do the opposite of what Bruce wanted, just out of spite.

And Despite Jason showing more and more signs of trust, he still _rarely_ got within Bruce’s reach. Bruce did not want push him, but he also didn’t want to discourage Jason from sitting near.

“Yes,” Jason said, grinning wide, “I’ve wanted to go to Gotham Academy since _forever.”_

Bruce smiled. Jason had already admitted that to him, the week before when they were uniform shopping. 

“Ah, good morning, Master Jason,” Alfred said, as he entered the dining room with breakfast, “What kind of juice would you like this morning?”

“Morning, Alfred,” Jason said, shifting in his chair so he was on his knees, and therefore tall enough to reach the food Alfred set in the middle of the table himself, “Orange, please.” 

Bruce watched in amusement as Jason served himself some of the French toast, then absolutely drowned the toast in syrup. 

“There is no way you can eat that much syrup,” Bruce commented, as he waited patiently for Jason to finish to he could maybe have some syrup on his plate. But at the rate Jason was going, there would be none left for anyone.

“Watch me,” Jason said, as he finally finished and handed Bruce the dispenser. 

“Just don’t get it on your clothes,” Bruce sighed. He was just happy Jason had started serving himself. And was eating appropriate amounts of food, if not a little _too_ much, sometimes. 

Jason chattered on through breakfast, talking Bruce’s ear off about the teacher meet-and-greet they’d done the week before, and all about everything they were going to learn that year. 

All Bruce could do was smile and ‘mhm’ his way through it, mostly because it was the fourth time Jason told him everything he was saying. 

Also. Bruce had _been there._ At the meet-and-greet.

When Jason got into his talkative moods, he often didn’t care if anyone was talking _back._

He hoped Jason came back from school just as upbeat. 

“Do you know how to do your tie?” Bruce asked, once Jason was finished eating and Alfred had brought him a damp washcloth to clean his face of syrup. 

After finishing off his juice in a loud gulp, Jason said, “Nope.” 

“Hm.” Bruce stood and retrieved he tie from the other end of the table, where Jason had deposited it upon entering the room, then motioned for Jason to come to him. “I’ll show you, but it’ll probably be easier for you to do it yourself once you get that cast off.” 

“One more week,” Jason said, grinning wide as he bounced over to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to get caught up on the thought that Jason came to him so easily, even though they were alone at the moment, and said, “Yep. I’m thrilled for you.” 

Jason straightened when Bruce flipped his collar up, and wrapped the tie around to show him how to tie it. Instead of watch, however, Jason continued looking at him and said, “Dick said he’ll teach me how to do a backflip once it’s off.” 

_Dick better not_ was all Bruce could think. What he said was, “Not right away. You’ll need to build back strength in your arm, first.” 

With a little scowl, Jason let out a puff of air and said, “I know. Dick said the same thing.” 

“Okay. As long as you’re careful.” Bruce twisted the tie around and fed the wide end through the loop he created, trying to go slowly so Jason could see exactly what he was doing. 

Jason rolled his eyes dramatically and said, “Yeah, yeah.”

“And then, you just pull on the little tail while holding the knot with your other hand to tighten it,” Bruce finished, while demonstrating the final step, “Make sure your collar is straight, and you’re done.”

“Cool,” Jason said, tugging at the tie a little, loosening it a touch from where Bruce had put it, “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Bruce flicked Jason on the nose, very lightly, as he stood, and returned back to his seat, ignoring how Jason rubbed at his nose and scowled at him. 

“That was _rude.”_

All Bruce did was smile. 

Smile and say, “Do you have shoes?”

Ignoring Bruce, Jason exclaimed, “Dick,” as Dick walked into the dining room.

“Morning, Jay.” 

“Hurry _up,_ you’re going to make us late,” Jason snapped, turning his scowl on Dick. 

Dick grinned as he sat down at the table, already pulling some food onto his plate. “Relax, we’ve still got ten minutes before we have to leave.” 

“I want to get there _early._ ”

“You’re such a nerd,” Dick said, through a mouthful of French toast, “Why are you such a nerd?” 

“Like you aren’t one _Mr. Academic Decathlon._ ” 

“Don’t be jealous,” Dick shot back, “The lower school—“

“Boys,” Bruce interrupted, “We don’t have time. Dick, eat. Jason, shoes.” 

“He is a nerd, though,” Dick said, once Jason ran off to retrieve his shoes. 

Bruce nodded and hummed, “Mhm. You were just as excited, at his age.”

“Was not.” 

“Hm. Finish your breakfast.” Bruce wasn’t sure, sometimes, whether it was good Jason brought Dick’s childish side out. And even though it was amusing how much they bickered, he often found himself getting exasperated. 

At least they were talking. 

And getting along.

Plus, Alfred assured him that siblings bickered. 

Bruce… hadn’t considered _that_ was what the boys were, now… Or thought about what that made _him._

He was only 28. He couldn’t have kids be fourteen and ten. 

Yet… 

Jason came bouncing back into the dining room, his shoes on his feet but untied. He stopped next to Bruce’s chair and held one of his feet up for Bruce to reach and simply said, “Fix it.” 

“I can’t wait for you to get that cast off,” Bruce said, with a soft laugh. 

At least Jason had started _asking_ for help when he needed it. Instead of working himself to tears trying to do everything alone, with one hand. Usually it was Alfred he asked to help, so Bruce couldn’t say he wasn’t _pleased_ Jason was gracing him with so much of his presence that morning. 

Jason simply grinned, so Bruce tied his shoes. 

\- - - 

The weeks continued to pass.

Jason absolutely _thrived_ at school. 

He had meltdowns, still. Frequently. Several times at school, which embarrassed the boy to no end. When the school counsellor had suggested _therapy,_ Bruce had almost scoffed. Because therapy had never worked for him.

But Jason _wasn’t_ Bruce. And Jason’s trauma was so different from Bruce’s, and so much deeper. Jason rarely shared much about himself. Rarely talked about his mom or dad. But Bruce was starting to piece together that he’d _never_ had a happy childhood. 

It wasn’t just a bad summer. It’d been a bad 10 years. 

Bruce… didn’t want to admit to crying, when he made that realization one night, sometime after patrol as he was lying awake, trying to puzzle out the kid that had wormed his way so deep into his heart. 

So they found him a therapist. Or, well. He started bringing Jason to Dinah, who _was_ a therapist, having been acting as the team’s counsellor for over a year at that point. 

Jason seemed to enjoy the sessions with Dinah. Whether that was just because Jason got to go to Mount Justice, Bruce wasn’t sure. Especially since Jason was moody, more often than not, after his sessions. 

But as long as Jason continued going willingly, Bruce would bring him. 

And as time passed, Bruce slowly started to untangle the foster care system from the mobs of Gotham. 

It took a lot of hard work. And even after dedicating so much of himself to it for months, he knew he still had _years_ ahead of him. Gordon had been working on the police force for what felt like an eternity, after all. If Gordon couldn’t fix the cops over night, Bruce was not expecting to fix foster care quickly, either. 

He made the most troubling discovery, however, one afternoon while Alfred was sitting with him, drinking his tea while Bruce continued working through his case. 

“What is that face for, Master Bruce,” Alfred asked, after Bruce had stared down at the document he had pulled up on his laptop. 

_Face?_

Bruce looked up from his laptop, and tried to collect his thoughts.

Because. 

It’d become clear, Jason wasn’t the first child to be trafficked by exploiting the wardship program in the state. 

Jason wasn’t _close_ to the first. 

_Thousands_ of children had been trafficked. It’d been going on for well over a _decade._

He wanted to be sick, just thinking about all the children he hadn’t saved. All the kids… who have disappeared. Without a trace. 

Without anyone to care about them. 

“I need,” Bruce started, then looked back down at his laptop blankly, “The state legislature needs to know about this. This… this can’t keep going. The state needs more oversight on children placed in their care.”

Alfred frowned, and said, “I don’t follow, sir.” 

“The wardship program, Alfred. They’ve been using the wardship program to traffic kids for at least a decade.” 

Only the New Jersey Legislature could put an end to it, too. That was something that had to be written into law. Not just exposed to the police. 

Bruce had plenty of connections within the Legislature. He knew his own senators and representatives, and half a dozen others, on both side of the aisle. He could lobby for this, create an organization to lobby for this. There was no doubt he’d get it done. No one wanted to be on record _against_ protecting the children of New Jersey. Regardless of whether they benefited from the trafficked children…

That was another thing Bruce would need to research. 

Extensively.

“Will this jeopardize the boys’ placement?” Alfred asked, causing Bruce to snap his attention back up.

It… probably would. 

Because. 

If he did this _right,_ it _should._

“Yeah,” he said, looking back down at his laptop and saving the documents he’d uncovered to the case file. He’d need it, to present to anyone who would listen. First he’d have to figure out how _Bruce Wayne_ had the documents, though. Maybe Batman gave them to him. Placed Jason in his care and turned him on to this entire scandal, in hopes that Bruce would use his power and leverage to do something.

Might work.

Alfred hummed, and set his tea down on the table in front of him. “Is that something you’re willing to have happen?”

“What? No.” Of course not. He’d fight for the boys. Fight to keep them right where they were. It shouldn’t be too difficult to prove that _their_ placements were legitimate. Even if _Jason’s_ looked just like every other trafficked kid out there… 

But that didn’t matter. _Jason_ went to school. _Jason_ had a therapist. _Jason_ had contact with people outside Bruce’s house, and he had no doubt he could easily get reference letters from half a dozen teachers, if necessary, attesting to Jason’s safety in Bruce’s house. 

Although, there was also _another_ option. To make the boys’ placement much more permanent and stable. 

“Then, what do you intend to do?” Alfred asked. 

Would the boys even _want_ that? 

“I think—“ he started, then frowned. 

Why _would_ the boys want that? They were perfectly content with being Bruce’s wards. Dick didn’t need new parents. He’d been quite clear about that when he was nine. And _Jason_ might have kind of trusted him now, but did that mean he wanted Bruce claiming him as his own? Did he want to be ‘trapped’ in Bruce’s house, for the rest of his childhood?

Alfred simply raised an eyebrow, so Bruce said, “I… I know I’m not their dad, or anything. But. It’s the only way to make them _mine,_ and not the state’s, and…” 

Nodding, Alfred said, like he’d already come to the conclusion himself, ‘Then you intend on adopting them.”

“Yeah. I just… don’t know how well they’ll take it.” 

_What if they say no?_

“Well, sir, might I suggest you _ask,_ then.” 

Maybe, the worst they could do was say no. And if they _did_ say no, Bruce would just fight for them harder. Fight to ensure _they_ got to stay, while the children actually in danger got rescued. 

It was all he could do. 

\- - - 

“Dick,” Bruce said, that Friday afternoon, while Dick was packing a bag for his weekend at the mountain. 

Thanksgiving was coming up quickly, and Dick wanted to spend one more weekend there before the holidays began. When Bruce said ‘yes,’ he hadn’t expected to need to have this conversation. 

“Hey, Bruce. What’s up? I can still go, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce said, as he crossed the room and sat down on Dick’s bed, right next to his half packed bag. 

“Okay. So…” Dick said, frowning from where he’d been digging through his closet, looking for who knew what, “What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Dick said slowly, as he stood up and crossed the room to sit next to Bruce. 

“I don't know how,” Bruce mumbled, rubbing at his face. How the hell was he supposed to ask his ward. His _partner, ‘_ hey, I want to be your dad. I want to adopt you so you’ll be mine forever, even though I know you don’t want new parents and probably aren’t interested in making _me_ be your dad.” 

“Bruce,” Dick said, almost admonishingly, “What is it? Just say it.”

So Bruce did. “The Wayne Foundation is starting a political advocacy group.”

Dick shook his head. Bruce didn’t blame him for not getting it. Bruce wasn’t doing this right.

He pressed on, though, and said, “With the singular goal of advocating for children of the state, to end the wardship program.”

“Like…” Dick said, as he pulled his legs up to sit criss cross on the bed, “the one you used to get me?”

Nodding, Bruce said, “Yes. It’s rarely used legitimately, it seems. Most children entered into the program are never seen again. That has to end.”

“Makes sense. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No. Ending the program will likely cause an audit of all children in the program already.”

Dick paled, a little, and asked, “You mean, Social Services might take me away?” 

“There’s the possibility, but I don’t want that to happen,“ Bruce said hastily, “Dick, I—” he paused, and took a deep breath. He _had_ to say it. He had to. He couldn’t ask without saying it. 

But Bruce was a coward, so he averted his eyes and rushed it out. “I love you, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” 

“Wow,” Dick breathed. When Bruce finally looked up again, all he saw was Dick looking at him intently. Completely thrown by the direction the conversation took.

Maybe… maybe that was something Bruce should say more often. It was bad, when a kid was startled by being told he was loved, right?

Yeah. Probably bad. 

“So,” Bruce continued, slowly, “I wanted to adopt you… as my son.”

Dick’s eyes went wide, and his hands squeezed his knees as he looked away from Bruce, off into the distance. 

“So no one can ever take you away,” Bruce added hastily. He didn’t want Dick taking it wrong. “I’m not trying to replace your dad. I know I could _never_ replace John. I just—“

When Dick looked back at him, his eyes shining, Bruce finished with, “ _I can’t lose you._ ”

Bruce startled when, not even half a second later, Dick flung himself at Bruce and wrapped his arms around him tightly. It took Bruce another few seconds to unfreeze, and wrap his arms back around Dick, and rest his head down into Dick’s hair.

Because Dick had started crying. And Bruce didn’t know what else to do.

“Is this good crying or bad crying,” he asked, after a moment had passed and Dick hadn’t stopped. 

“Good crying,” Dick said, sniffling a little. Bruce could hear the smile in his voice, so he squeezed a little tighter.

He honestly hadn’t expected Dick to just… agree. He thought he’d have to convince Dick. 

“So, you’re okay with it?” he asked, “You’ll let me adopt you?”

Dick pushed back, so Bruce let go, and grinned wide as he scrubbed at his eyes. “Yes, you idiot.” 

“Oh.” Bruce nodded. “Okay. Good.”

“Are you offering this to Jason, too,” Dick asked, as he lifted his t-shirt to fully wipe his face clean of tears. 

“I was going to try. I’m not sure he’ll say yes.” He’d been worried Dick would say no, he was almost _convinced_ Jason would. 

“He probably will,” Dick reasoned, “if only to avoid foster care again.” 

That was another thing Bruce was afraid of. “I don’t want him to feel pressured into it.”

“Him being taken away would be worse,” Dick said, as he leaned sideways, resting his head against Bruce’s arm, “He’ll think of that.” 

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

“So,” Dick said, “he’s going to be my little brother for real.” 

If Bruce adopted them both, he supposed they would. They already called each other ‘foster brother.’ It was a neat thought, to think they’d be _adopted_ brothers. 

_And Bruce would be their adopted father._

“I guess so,” he said. 

“Awesome,” Dick whispered, “I’ve always wanted a little brother.” 

“Yeah?” Bruce asked, as he freed his arm from under Dick and wrapped it around his shoulders. 

Dick shifted, so he was leaned further into Bruce’s side and nodded. “Yeah. And he’s a pretty good little brother.” 

They were both good sons. 

\- - - 

Bruce waited until Sunday to ask Jason. 

It wasn’t because he was chickening out… 

Well, that was a blatant lie. Bruce was absolutely chickening out. He had no idea how to broach the topic with Jason. Looking at the kid funny still sometimes set him off. 

Not as often, anymore. He was getting remarkably better, but still. The last thing he wanted was to make Jason feel cornered and trapped. Jason _never_ did well feeling cornered or trapped. 

But, alas, when Bruce finally sat Jason down in the living room, Jason sitting on the couch, and Bruce sitting on the coffee table in front of him, Jason started looking around nervously and picking at his nails. 

“I didn’t do nothing,” Jason mumbled, when Bruce sighed and tried to get his thoughts in order. 

“What?” he said, straightening a little, “No. You’re not in trouble. We just need to talk.” 

“That’s an oxymoron,” Jason said, as he scooted further back on the couch and crossed his arms. 

Bruce took the hint and backed up a little more, scooting the coffee table with him. “That’s not what oxymoron means, and no, it’s not. You really aren’t in trouble.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

With a deep breath, Bruce began to explain. Or, explain the best he could to a ten-year-old who really didn’t need to know every detail about everything. 

For once in his life, Jason deserved to be _sheltered_ from the evils of the world. 

“I’ve figured out the next step in solving the foster care problem,” he said, watching as Jason stilled, “and we need to discuss what _our_ next step will be. For you.” 

“Oh.” 

“The program you’re placed with me through—“ Bruce started, but was interrupted by Jason sniping at him.

“You mean kidnapping? I don’t think that’s a program.” 

“—is being exploited by traffickers,” he continued, slowly. Ignoring the comment, for the moment, “Which is why you were in the program in the first place.” 

Jason nodded, still looking everywhere but at Bruce. “I knew that already.” 

“Yes,” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his face, “I guess you _could_ say it’s like legal kidnapping. Well, it’s not _legal._ Kidnapping with paperwork, I guess. To prevent missing persons reports.” 

“What’s your point?”

“I’m going to start working hard on putting an end to the program completely, so no child can be exploited using it.”

“Okay,” Jason said, nodding, fidgeting in his seat a little, “Good. Good plan. Can I go now?”

“No,” he said, reaching out and placing a hand on Jason’s knee, in hopes of stilling him. All it did was make Jason tense, though, so he quickly let go and said, “That’s not what we needed to talk about.” 

“Then what _is_ it, just tell me,” Jason snapped. His face screwed up, in just the way it usually did before a full blown meltdown started, and Bruce knew he only had so many chances to prevent that. To convince Jason everything was okay, and there was no need to be panicking.

“Okay,” he said hastily, “You and Dick are both here through that program, and if we put an end to the program, your placement with me could be terminated by the state.” 

That. That didn’t help. 

He could tell immediately, because Jason’s eyes widened and he looked at Bruce frantically. 

“I’m gonna get taken away?” Jason nearly cried. He wasn’t quite there yet, but he was _so close._ “You said I wouldn’t have to deal with social services for a couple years!”

“Yes,” Bruce said, then quickly corrected to, “No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t _want_ that to happen. I want to adopt you, instead.” 

“You-“ Jason said. He paused, and just stared at Bruce for a long moment before he said, much quieter, “You want to keep me forever?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I do.” _More than anything._

“Not as a prisoner,” he quickly amended, “As my son.”

“I know what ‘adopt’ means,” Jason snapped, then softened and asked, uneasily, “But I thought I was just here until it was safe to send me away. To a real foster family.”

 _I never wanted to send you away,_ Bruce thought, _not for a second._

“If that’s what you want,” he said instead, “I just want you to feel happy and safe and loved. If you can’t get that here—“

“I can!” Jason shouted.

“What?”

“I like it here,” Jason said quickly, “I feel happy and safe here.” 

“You do?” Bruce could cry.

Bruce was _not_ going to cry.

Jason nodded enthusiastically, like he thought all he had to do was convince Bruce of this and Bruce wouldn’t make him leave. 

He was _never_ going to make Jason leave. 

“And loved?” he asked. Because that’s what he wanted for Jason. Safe and happy and _loved._ And he just wanted to make absolutely certain, before he went through with the paperwork. 

But Jason grimaced, and looked at him warily. Falling back into old habits. Doubting the words out of Bruce’s mouth. 

Just like with Dick, he had to say it. He needed to say it more, anyway. 

“I love you, Jason,” he said, awkwardly, then added, “So does Alfred. And Dick.”

Jason’s frown deepened, as he grimaced again. In his I’m-about-to-cry way. But somehow, Bruce knew it wasn’t be bad crying. “You do?” Jason whispered.

“Of course, Jay, lad,” he said gently, placing his hand on Jason’s knee again, and squeezing when Jason didn’t flinch or pull away, “We’ve known you for more than five seconds. That’s all it takes.” 

“But,” Jason said, “I called you a pedophile. And an asshole. And—And—“

“It’s okay. You were scared. I kind of kidnapped you, so I deserved it.” He deserved it and so much more.

He certainly did _not_ deserve Jason. Not in the least. 

“But you still loved me, then?”

_Right from the start._

_“_ Yes.” 

“And,” Jason said, his voice cracking, in his little whine that made Bruce want to hug him, but Bruce held back. Because Jason had yet to allow him, even though Bruce had asked for permission a few times already. Jason always shook his head no, so he respected his boundaries. Let Dick hug him, instead. Or Alfred, once. 

He just wanted his boy to feel safe. And if that meant he had to back off, he would back off. 

“You really want to adopt me?”

“More than anything, Jason.” 

“Okay,” Jason cried, nodding. He scrubbed at his eye, once, then looked at Bruce. 

Then, before Bruce could blink, Jason jumped down off the couch and closed the distance between the two of them. 

And launched himself right at Bruce, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist, and burying his face into Bruce’s shirt as he cried. 

Bruce couldn’t keep the tears from forming in his own eyes, and he returned the hug fiercely. 

“Happy tears?” he asked, smiling at how _alike_ his boys were. So alike, and yet so vastly different.

Jason nodded against his chest, and asked, “So I’m going to be a Wayne now?”

“If that’s what you want. You can keep Todd, though.” Bruce hadn’t honestly thought about it. He knew Dick would _not_ want to change his last name, and hadn’t stopped to consider whether that would be different for Jason.

For Jason, who clearly did not hold his biological father in any sort of high regard. Bruce had offered, once, to take Jason to visit Willis. But Jason had refused, mumbling something about how “s’not like he’d want to see me.” 

It shouldn’t have surprised Bruce, at all, that maybe Jason would want to leave his last name in the past, too. 

“It’s your choice,” he added, just to be sure Jason knew either option was perfectly acceptable. 

Jason hiccuped, once, then pushed away from Bruce, so Bruce let go just as quickly as he could. After searching Bruce’s face for what, Bruce didn’t know, Jason nodded and said, “No. I—I want Wayne.” 

“Well then,” Bruce said wetly, smiling as he placed his hands on either side of Jason’s face. Jason didn’t even react, so he pulled Jason’s face closer and planted a kiss right on his forehead and added, “I would be honored to give you that name.” 

He really was going to have two sons. 

Instead of pull away again, Jason wrapped his arms back around Bruce, so Bruce just held him. For several long, wonderful minutes. 

Bruce wasn’t sure he could ever be happier than he was, in that moment. 

“I love you so much, Jay,” he whispered, squeezing just a little tighter as he did. 

Jason merely nodded, and whispered back, “Me too.” 

He was wrong. He _could_ be happier. 

\- - - 

The adoption process took a lot longer than Bruce wished. Jason’s one year anniversary came, before their court date did. 

But when it finally did, one summer day before Jason turned eleven, none of them could have been more thrilled. Both Dick and Jason smiled widely as they all posed with the judge, and Bruce felt like he might burst, just from the sheer happiness of _both_ of his sons.

It was a long day. A long day of court proceeding, lunch out, and then a party, back home, with all their friends and allies. 

So, it came as no surprise when Bruce found Jason passed out on the couch, sometime after the festivities had ended and everyone had gone home. It wasn’t quite Jason’s bedtime, but Bruce just knew, there was no way Jason wasn’t out for the night. 

“Jay,” Bruce whispered, as he knelt down next to his son and bushed his hair out of his face. 

“Dad?” Jason mumbled, not even opening his eyes as he pulled the blanket he’d cocooned himself up in closer to his face. 

Bruce brushed his fingers through Jason’s hair again and said, “It’s Bruce, buddy.” 

Nodding, Jason said, “Yeah,” sleepily, “what I said.” 

It wasn’t. But Bruce certainly wasn’t going to correct _that._

Because maybe it made warmth shoot through his chest. And him smile, widely. 

“You’ll be more comfortable sleeping in your bed,” he said, his hand still tangled up in Jason’s hair. Offering the comfort Jason hadn’t shied away from in months. 

Jason merely nodded, so Bruce asked, “Do you want me to carry you upstairs?”

At that, Jason did open his eyes. Briefly. Just long enough, as if he was confirming it really _was_ Bruce squatting in front of him. When he did, he nodded and whispered, “Yeah,” and held his arms up for Bruce to lift him. 

So Bruce did. 

And he cherished every second of it. Because he knew, this would not be something he got to do often. 

Dick had long since outgrown being carried to bed. He was twelve, the last time Bruce had done it. So Bruce held Jason close, and walked slowly toward the boy’s room. 

And once there, he reluctantly laid the boy down, and tucked him into his bed. 

“Was today a good day?” he asked, when Jason opened his eyes and stared up at Bruce. 

“The best,” Jason said, rolling onto his side and snuggling down into his blanket. 

“Good, I’m glad,” Bruce said, as he sat down and leaned over, pushing Jason’s hair out of face so he could kiss him on the forehead, “I love you, kiddo.” 

Jason smiled, sleepily, as he closed his eyes and relaxed the rest of the way, clearly already half way back to dreamland. 

“Night, Dad,” Jason mumbled, after Bruce stood and made his way across the room. 

Pausing in the doorway, Bruce smiled, and just watched his son sleep for a few minutes. 

_His son._

His _youngest_ son. 

Who knew kidnapping a child could turn out so well? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was self-indulgent fluff and I'm not sorry for it. It made my heart feel better after that scene of Jason crying while Alfred washed his hair, cause I cannot get that heartbreak out of my head. LOL
> 
> Annnnyway. Thanks so much for reading and all the lovely comments/kudos/etc. I had a lot of fun getting so deep in this story this past week and a half, or so. I wish I could write this fast all the time, it was a lot of fun. But now I have to go clean my apartment because it is a mess. hahaha 
> 
> Next week we return to our regularly scheduled programming: The Best Things on Sundays/Mondays and Jason and the Three Terrors hopefully every other week.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Another Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191555) by [PrincessMariana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMariana/pseuds/PrincessMariana)




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